


Seven Year Revival

by Aoidos



Category: London Spy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoidos/pseuds/Aoidos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place about halfway through Danny and Alex's eight-month relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Danny goes to Aldi

Alex waits in the parlor, stooped slightly so he can peer under the blinds and through the window, down to the street. Danny’s been gone for an hour and fifteen minutes, which is 4,500 seconds. He makes that calculation in between breaths, waiting, and watching the eight cars parked on his block. The same eight cars are always there. He’s memorized the license plates, in addition to the full names of the cars’ owners. Most of them belong to neighbors, but the steel grey Audi belongs to Mrs. Wade’s sister, Julie, who is visiting from Wales. 

Alex lifts a china tea cup to his lips and sips. Lemongrass herbal—the kind that comes in little silk pyramids. Alex doesn’t care for it. He prefers a cup of Early Grey, but this morning he exited the shower, dressed, and walked into the kitchen to find that Danny had made a brew. He’s learned that rejecting such kindness results in Danny becoming very quiet and avoiding him for periods of time, so even though Alex wanted his Earl Grey, he quietly thanked Danny and has since been nursing the lesser herbs. Alex suspects that Danny bought the Lemongrass pyramids because they struck him as somehow being posh, the beverage of choice for nobility and other such important people.

Having money is new to Danny, so he doesn’t know how to spend it.

With Alex’s credit card, Danny’s gone grocery shopping. He said he’ll be back in an hour, but it’s been 4,500 seconds. He closes his eyes and plays the game where he recites the license plate numbers back from memory. When his eyes open, he checks to see if he got it right. The last part of the game is superfluous because Alex is never wrong.

He walks into the kitchen and pours the rest of the tea down the sink drain, then scoops out the bag and deposits it inside the rubbish. Afterwards, Alex stands in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips before opening the tea drawer, and smiling faintly when he notices the box of Lemongrass placed amidst his carefully arranged tea boxes (sorted by region and then alphabetically). The box is upside-down, the label running against current, so he turns it to match the rest but it still looks out of place. It’s the label. The label is all wrong: the colors too bright, the font too large and garish. Alex plucks the box out of the drawer and considers it a moment. He could throw it away. He could remove the offensive, loud invader from his home.

But then Danny will go quiet.

He returns the box to the drawer, closes it, and walks back to the parlor window. The Rolex at his wrist announces the time: now an hour and twenty minutes since Danny’s departure, or 4,800 seconds. A stabbing pain in his stomach forces him to brace an arm against the windowsill, but Alex keeps his facial features schooled. Fear is an aberration one can deal with internally. It’s not until one externalizes the fear with a furrowed brow or grimace that the theoretical becomes actual. To distract himself from the pain, he does his multiplications. Four thousand eight hundred doubled is 9,600 times three is 28,800 times four is 115,200 times five is 576,000…

Gradually, the pain subsides and Alex eases off the sill. He checks his phone for messages but the voicemail is empty and there are no angry red bubbles hovering above his text messages. They haven’t tried to contact him lately. Why would they? He’s not on mission and he’s done nothing wrong. _Danny hasn’t compromised me_ , he insists, part of an imagined conversation he’s been having since meeting the young man. _I’m allowed to have a social life. He doesn’t know anything about what I do._

It’s been four months since they met, and Alex is nurturing a wild theory that he might be able to keep secrets from Danny forever, even though Danny is, in contrast (and to put it extremely mildly), an open book within their relationship. Alex wants to cringe sometimes in response to how honest Danny is. It’s as though he has absolutely no filter whatsoever, whereas a Herculean effort is required on Danny’s part to pry out even the smallest confession from Alex. Such imbalance isn’t healthy in a partnership, but he comforts himself by insisting during these imagined conversations that he’s deliberately withholding information from Danny in order to protect him.

But even that precaution may not have been enough. An hour and thirty minutes. Five thousand four hundred seconds. He buttons the front of his suit jacket and considers the conversation with police: _Hello, yes, I’m in need of some assistance. Dangerous men, my employers, have been monitoring me for years and I’m afraid they’ve snatched my boyfriend._ An absurd exercise, a private game just for him, of course, because contacting the authorities is tantamount to suicide. The police _work_ for his employers. They’re friends, comrades, hardly an independent party to help broker an agreement to release Danny.

Just the paranoia talking. It’s ridiculous to believe they snatched him from an Aldi aisle. Too many witnesses. That sort of thing causes reporters to visit family members and friends and pose prying questions: who, what, when, where, why? _And why would they take him, anyway? They’d be after you_. The thought pulls him away from the window and towards the flat door, then the windows to triple check they’re locked. _What good will that do you when they kick in the front door?_

Alex returns to the parlor, but sits on one of the white, armless chairs with the back that curves like a swan’s neck. Terribly uncomfortable to sit on, but it’s cohesive with the rest of the room’s decorations. Brutal minimalism. He supposes that’s his aesthetic, not that he put a tremendous amount of thought into it. Decorating isn’t really his speciality, but the chair was part of a premeditatedly calculated display at the upscale furniture store he patronized in Soho, so purchasing it was required. 

He plucks a bit of lint from his knee and wonders if Danny hates his home. _Our home_. But is it really _their_ home? They haven’t had that conversation yet. Danny and his flatmates live in virtual squaller, so he knows the young man appreciates the finer accouterments Alex’s lifestyle can afford them, however he gleaned from the bizarre bric-a-brac contained in their flat that Danny’s tastes are a tad…eclectic. Perhaps the emotional tundra of Alex’s home depresses him. He considers suggesting that Danny introduce a bit of his style into the flat, but the thought makes his palms itch. _Not yet. You don’t even like the tea he buys._

His Brooks Brothers press to the floor as he almost stands. _A watched pot never boils_. The empty platitude flutters through his mind and he eases back into the chair, allowing the uncompromising bend to correct the posture of his spine. _There, you see?_ As the vine crawls along the building, so he adapts to face new challenges. Just last year, a person like Danny would have made him run for the hills, but today they’re living together. _Were living together._

Alex jumps off the chair and returns to the window, just as Danny pivots off the main road and jogs towards the front door, plastic Aldi bags swinging from their handles.

 

* * *

 

Danny smokes while he walks. It’s going to be a bit of a hike, as Alex pointed out, but he said he doesn’t mind. Truthfully, he doesn’t, if only because he gets to smoke and be alone with his thoughts for a while. He could smoke on the terrace, but then he’ll just be standing alone out there, keenly aware that Alex is waiting _inside_ for him, and there is yet another line drawn between them, yet another place where he is willing to go while Alex refuses. Or worse, Alex _does_ go outside with him, but stands there watching him, awkward in his quiet way, and then Danny feels too self-conscious to smoke.

He should quit. He really should quit smoking. Danny notices his cigarette is no longer lit and swears, stopping by the road to jam his thumb against the lighter’s wheel until it sparks and lights the tip again. His lungs pull deep, filling with rich, warm smoke like a decanter as he crosses the street and exhales on the other side: a dragon’s roar. Danny thinks about breathing fire for approximately thirty seconds before his thoughts flit back to Alex (and Alex naked), and then the possibility that Alex is lying to him.

Lately, he’s been pressing for details about Alex’s investment banking position. Not in any serious kind of effort to seize annexed territory, but in the way that Danny hates about himself—needling, pressing, and pushing (even as he tells himself to stop, even as his heart pounds rabbit quick because he’s so afraid of fucking up everything)—just because he can’t _stand_ the fact that he knows there’s more Alex isn’t telling him, and after he’s been so bloody honest about his own personal failings. He loves Alex so much that he wants to know everything about him, and in turn Danny wants to share everything with _him_ , but Alex doesn’t feel the same and that kills him a little bit.

A group of teenagers in hoodies walks towards him and Danny stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pea coat, keeping his chin tucked low to his chest. He’s convinced his walk three seconds ago was the walk of a gay man, that these youth will be able to peg him at once and hurl insults his way, but if he changes his mannerisms ever-so-slightly they’ll sail past his ship, completely ignorant to the fact that they narrowly avoided interacting with a homosexual. 

They walk by, too busy chatting among themselves to even notice him.

He doubts Alex ever worries about stuff like that. Alex can _pass_. He’s very masculine. Scottie teases him about it: _He’s just your type. Manly. You always loved the manly ones_. And it’s true. He does. Danny has always been drawn to masculine beauty, but pursuing such a classification in a man relatively close to his own age is new. He picks up the pace, jogging to make the light, still puffing away on the cigarette like a steam engine. 

Last night, he asked about Alex’s job. Over dinner. _What do you do specifically in investment banking?_ Tone light. Alex has a special gaze set aside to deal with questions of a personal nature. The predatory bird stare. Danny swears his eyes almost turn black. He’s not angry. He simply _shuts down_. Alex lowered first the fork, then the knife, cutlery clanking on the table like steel doors closing, fingers making minute adjustments to ensure they rested perfectly parallel. Alex is a lover of straight lines and Danny is very messy.

“I don’t want to talk about my job,” he quietly deflected.

Maybe he thinks Danny wouldn’t understand his job. After all, he’s hardly a scholar. One day, a robot will do Danny’s job in the warehouse. In fact, a computer already does half the work. But a lifetime hustling on the streets and learning some extremely hard lessons has taught him to have a sixth sense about people. When he saw Alex running along the Thames, Danny had _known_ there was more to him, and he has that feeling again. Sometimes, you have to take a chance. Otherwise, you don’t know. He took a chance with Alex and now Danny can’t stop taking chances, poking and prodding every opportunity he sees, even though he feels as though he’s walking on a very thin layer of ice.

 _He’s just using you for sex_. Danny waves his hand through the air, shooing away a bit of smoke and the voice of Scottie. 

Someone once told him cells in the body have a lifespan of seven years. So every seven years, you basically become a new person. That thought comforts him tremendously. For Danny, everything went off the rails after he came out, age nineteen, and next year he turns twenty-six, which means next year he’ll be a whole new person. Perhaps Alex is part of this metamorphose, a new beginning that includes a sexy, wealthy boyfriend who enjoys country walks, and maybe one day a job Danny actually likes. He could even go back to school. Or not. Maybe he’ll stay home and raise the children.

Danny smirks around the filter, just imagining that.

He walks the long way to Aldi, deliberately introducing detours here and there so he can remain lost in his thoughts. His cigarette burns down to the filter, so he uses it to light a fresh one and continues walking. Eventually, he fishes out his earbuds and plugs them into his phone so he can listen to Coctaeu Twins, head occasionally bobbing and swaying as he thinks back to last night, after dinner, when by way of apology he took Alex to bed and sucked his cock until the man nearly wept.

Which is one way to make amends, isn’t it?

Aldi is fairly empty and Danny takes his time wandering the aisles with his cart, leaning on the handle, music blaring in his ears. He wonders if all this stuff is too pedestrian for a man like Alex. Maybe he should have gone to a farmer’s market, or wherever rich people buy their groceries. Do they even go to a store? Maybe they order online, like recluse celebrities. He sighs, considering the bottom ledges that were his usual domain: cheap, generic brands. At the very least, he should buy top shelf products. All brand name. He spends a long time in the produce section, buying all manner of vegetables and fruits, while telling himself they can Google recipes and rich people can afford to replace food that is quick to expire.

While in the checkout line, he imagines a sweetly domestic scene: he and Alex cooking together, chopping veggies as they listen to the radio. The thought makes him smile.

_What does Scottie know, anyway? Bitter old man._

He presents the credit card at the register, briefly seized by the terrible thought that the checkout girl will ask to see his ID. Danny isn’t the type of man to present a Centurion Card. How could he be so stupid? The blonde girl behind the counter will assume he’s stolen it and call the police, and how embarrassing will that be? Having to call Alex and explain, “You’ve fallen in with someone who permanently looks like a hooligan.” 

She considers his card for a moment and runs it through the scanner. 

Danny silently exhales. 

He marches from Aldi, four bags swinging from his arms, chin lifted victoriously. _This could be forever, you know_. He could be one of those upstanding citizens, if he plays his cards right with Alex. If Alex wants this to continue. Scottie’s voice points out he’s living at the mercy of a man… _again_. He would be subject to Alex’s every whim and mood change, hanging onto this lifestyle by his fingernails. But isn’t that part of the excitement? An adventure isn’t looking at a map and following a path that’s already been stomped into submission. It’s about forging the path, slashing into the wilderness with reckless abandon.

Danny deposits the bags at his feet as he waits for the light to change and wrestles a new pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and taking a few drags before the light changes again and he picks up the bags to cross.  

He thinks about last night’s dinner and Alex’s cold stare, then about afterwards, thick fingers curled in his hair, Alex’s back arched off the bed. His dick gives an interested twitch so he has to think about something else: maybe they can make a stir fry tonight. That’ll be easy to make. He’ll Google a recipe when he gets home. What time is it anyway? Danny finishes out the cellphone from his pocket and swears around the filter. That took longer than he expected. Too much bloody daydreaming.

He picks up the pace and is practically running by the time he hits Alex’s block. _Our block_. Definitely not Scottie’s voice that time. Too foolishly optimistic. They haven’t even had that conversation yet. 

Danny doesn’t want to scare Alex. Sometimes, moving fast is good, but other times call for patience and vigilance. Everyone thinks Danny is too flighty to focus on a single person for an extended period of time, but they’re wrong. He wants stability so badly that sometimes the thought of it makes him cry. He’s not going to get tired of Alex, despite what Scottie says. He’s not going to get tired of the country walks and the fastidious organizational routines. He’s not going to get tired of Alex’s quiet, capable strength and his trembling, vulnerable core. He will love forever the unpredictability of each exchange, how wonderfully weird Alex behaves if he feels cornered. The way sometimes they stop and look at one another and Danny knows they’re seconds away from tearing each other apart.

He’s a different person now. Danny feels it in his bones. Next August makes seven years. Bright, shiny cells.

A new beginning.


	2. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Danny make dinner

The kitchen is a mess. His fault, really. It was Danny’s whole idea, the dinner, and now every surface is covered with grit and grime, and he can tell it’s driving Alex mad, though the man is making a heroic effort not to drop to his hands and knees and scrub the floor with a bristle brush and soapy water. Danny offers another apologetic smile, “The recipe book says twenty minutes, but they always lie, don’t they?” 

Cooking seemed like such a nice, normal, domestic idea, however he couldn’t just settle for rice and beans (no, no), _Danny_ had to choose a horrifically complicated labyrinth of a recipe featuring exotic ingredients he’d never even heard of (what in the world are _dulse flakes_?) and which demanded the utilization of every pot and pan Alex possesses: the pan inside the oven to bake hand-rolled and lovingly seasoned meatballs; a smaller pot to roast the pine nuts; the glass bowl to whip the cream that is, for some reason, separate from the thicker sauce they’re working on now. 

He’d spent hours wandering the aisles of a posh health food store to secure every last item, and Alex seemed too wary to dismiss the idea when he presented it that evening.

Sometimes Danny is afraid Alex isn’t so much _agreeing_ with him as he is capitulating.

“No rush,” Alex remarks in his clipped, efficient way, flashing a close-lipped smile and fiddling with the radio’s knob. He’s either going to do that or begin cleaning, and Danny has already made him swear he would not do the latter. (They have a cleaner for that, yet another perk of the posh life Danny hasn’t adjusted to yet. He’s never seen the woman. She seems to have a radar for when they’ve popped out of the flat, appears just long enough to clean, and vanishes before they return). Thus, radio-fiddling, and he eventually settles upon a classical music station. Alex displays satisfaction with a sigh and minute relaxation of shoulders, followed by the rolling of sleeves (he’s still in shirt and tie). “Is this alright? I can change it.” 

His dark gaze finds Danny, who until that moment had been shamelessly leering at the muscles and veins in Alex’s forearms, and responds with a flustered smile. _It’s been months and you’re still nervous around him. Pathetic._ “Yeah. _Yes_. That’s perfect. Good cooking music. And besides,” he chuckles, “I don’t think you’d like my music.”

Danny plucks a lemon from the colander in the sink, hands it to Alex, and watches as he cuts it in half using one of the big, metal butcher knives. The second pasta sauce recipe calls for the juice of one lemon, and later, the grated skin as a garnish. Alex removes the pits with the tip of the blade. “What makes you say that?” When Danny looks up at him, his gaze is teasing.

A cautious smile curves his lips because, _right_ , that’s become something of a little joke between them—how utterly incompatible they are. If Danny didn’t know better, he would have sworn their meeting was a carefully orchestrated event, set up by mad scientist types determined to see if two human beings who have nothing in common are capable of cohabitating. However, this night, for whatever reason, he rises to the bait. “Okay, fine…” he says, crossing the room to where his peacoat is draped across the back of a kitchen chair. He fishes out his phone and earbuds and returns to the counter, thumb pad swiping through the list of artists that should be labeled _Offensive To Alex’s Senses_. “Right, here.” He places a bud into his ear and extends the other to Alex, who gazes in amusement at it before placing it into his ear. “Coctaeu Twins. They’re my favorite,” he rambles, since it has only just now occurred to him how tremendously personal it is to share his music with someone. In fact, he’s never done it before, and while yes, he has slept with Alex, this is somehow different. He listened to Coctaeu Twins when he first moved to London; the first few nights he wandered the streets at night, too afraid to go into any club or talk to anyone; the first time he laid in bed for a week, crying after a particularly nasty break up (and when he learned gay men still marry women in sham marriages).

He’s too nervous to watch Alex’s face, so he stares at his chest, the way the beautiful buttons of his shirt rise and fall as he breathes.

“I like this,” Alex says eventually.

Danny looks up at him. “No you don’t,” he smirks.

“Yes, I do.” Eyebrows arching high on his forehead, lips struggling not to curve.

He laughs. “Liar.”

“I swear,” Alex insists, but he’s laughing, “Of all the music you’ve played, this offends me the least.” He squeezes the lemon half into the blender, where the mashed avocado and an assortment of other ingredients hand-selected by a French culinary chef and later printed in a thick recipe book, already reside. The cloudy droplets pound the green landscape like rain against countryside. 

Danny plucks the bud from his ear and marches back to the table. “As if I’d play you any of my music.” But he’s grinning as he deposits the phone back into his pocket, aware that Alex _checks_ to make sure he’s still smiling. Sometimes, Alex has a hard time keeping track of emotions and Danny’s expressions serve as a kind of barometer. 

The playful look Danny tosses over his shoulder is Alex’s cue to keep the teasing going: “I hear you in the lavatory, when you play music on your phone.”

“Oh no,” Danny laughs, face pinched in embarrassment. He hadn’t been aware he was so loud.

“And..” Alex continues, chuckling, “When you sing.”

“Oh God. Mercy!” Danny cries, throwing his hands across his heart as if Alex has issued a fatal blow. “I’m rubbish at singing, I know. You don’t have to say…”

Alex secures the blender top and places it on the base. “I rather enjoy your singing,” he says, flicking on the motor, which thankfully grants Danny a moment to watch him, the smile slipping away, his gaze reflecting affection and not a little earnest awe that _this_ man finds his idiosyncrasies charming. This perfect, brilliant, _upstanding_ man doesn’t want to polish his rough edges, and in fact seems to celebrate Danny in all his weirdness.

“Uh, I can set the table,” he says when Alex flicks off the blender and looks at him. The big pot steams and bubbles atop the stove, meaning the pasta will be ready shortly. He sets the mats, silverware, and cloth napkins, and then moves the mixed salad in the big wooden bowl and platter of fresh garlic bread over as well. A proper adult dinner, not a tradition Danny is accustomed to, given dinner (when he had enough money to buy it) usually entailed eating from a takeaway container on his bed, hiding from his flatmates and the rest of the world.

They prepare the pasta (noodles, meatballs, sauce, grated lemon skin) at the counter and transfer the bowls, Alex sitting at the head of the table as he sits directly beside him, and Danny flashes a nervous, flustered smile. “Bon appetite,” he says as they clink wine glasses. It’s a red from one of Alex’s old, dusty vessels that was probably bottled a hundred years before Danny was born. A significant upgrade from his days of chugging _Yellow Tail._ The dark liquid swirls in his glass, as he knows he’s supposed to do, letting it breathe, before he takes a delicate sip and holds the liquor inside his mouth, tastebuds blossoming in welcoming. He hums appreciatively and Alex’s gaze shines. He likes knowing his things make Danny happy.

Outside, it’s night, but not pitch black in the way cities never entirely go dark, ever-illuminated by some light somewhere belonging to someone who can’t sleep.

They’re quiet for a moment, an anomaly Danny is still not used to. He likes lots of noise because silence frightens him, but Alex is a man of few words so he’s trying to adjust. Their forks clank against the bowl, winding pasta around noodles, spearing the juicy meatballs, and chewing with eyes locked, calibrating one another’s responses. Danny blinks first (because he always does), eyebrows arching high in approval. “Mmm,” he says, mouth still full, which makes Alex smile.

He does not speak because it’s rude to speak with one’s mouth full. It’s only afterwards, post-swallowing, that he comments: “Not bad for our first attempt.” 

“The dulse flakes. They’re off.”

“Surely not. I just bought them. They’re good for another few weeks.”

Alex shakes his head. “Some of the smaller shops change the expiration stickers so they can sell produce longer.”

“And you can taste the difference?” he asks, somewhat incredulously.

“Yes,” Alex replies, lightly, as though a superhuman sense of taste is another humdrum aspect to his bevy of impressive skills. And then perhaps detecting he’s strayed from the beaten path of normality, into the dense wood of genius and callousness that earns him odd looks from people, adds: “It’s quite good, though. You baked the meatballs perfectly.”

A sly smile fishhooks Danny’s mouth. “Oh, _thank you_ ,” he purrs, running a bare foot along Alex’s shoe, toes wiggling under the hem of his slacks to graze the bare flesh above a sock.

Alex gazes at him, an inscrutable stare, before clearing his throat and nodding, attention returning to the pasta. They continue eating in silence and Danny removes his foot, the offending appendage returning to politely rest beside its mate. _No rush_. They have all night, and if Alex doesn’t feel up for it, they can cuddle in bed again. Danny likes that too. He can practically feel Alex growing tense beside him, perhaps injecting too much meaning into the harmless moment of flirtation. Maybe he’s thinking that Danny thinks he’s odd for not knowing how to react when his boyfriend makes a move.

He’s just opened his mouth to say something horrible like: _I don’t think you’re weird_ , but Alex speaks first: “I want to try again tonight, but…” His tongue fails him and he lifts a palm into the air, gesturing between them.

Danny stares blankly for a moment before realization dawns: “You want to fuck me?” The words slip out before he can think and a hand covers his mouth as Alex turns a lovely shade of red. He laughs—can’t be helped, really—because, _God_ , they really are hopeless, aren’t they?“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

But Alex smiles, chuckling as he shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. I mean, _yes_. To put it bluntly. I’d like to try… If that’s acceptable.”

He quirks a brow. “ _Acceptable_? You’re not going to shake my hand, are you?”

The dinner forgotten, Alex’s spine straightens as he eases back in the chair, considering Danny with sudden, intense sobriety. “No,” he answers simply, but the timbre of his voice launches a thrilling tremor up Danny’s spine. 

“Oh.” _Stupid. Say something else_. “I’d like that.” He buries his face in the wine glass, gulping down what’s left so he doesn’t have to watch the amusement wash across Alex’s face.

 

* * *

 

His heart hammers, threatening to split through the flimsy barriers of his chest and t-shirt, while quaking fingers swipe and twirl at his hair. They’re standing in the bedroom—just _standing_ there—a minor recalibration away from the bed, appearance exactly as they were downstairs an hour ago (sans shoes, socks, and tie, in Alex’s case). 

The first time, months ago, had been a failure. Alex has been too tense and said it hurt, so Danny immediately stopped and afterwards spent hours splayed across the loo floor as his lover soaked in the tub, trying to coax out Alex from a place of dark self-loathing. Alex had wanted their first time to be magical but it hadn’t been. If anything, it had been heartbreaking insomuch as Danny had wanted to reach into Alex’s brain and remove the cancerous insecurity that is slowly eating him from the inside.

Back then, Danny had volunteered to bottom, but Alex had insisted on trying so they kept trying, until finally— _finally_ —Alex relaxed and blossomed for him. They didn’t need to look for the magic because the magic found them in great, rushing waves.

Alex’s fingers twitch at his side, as if counting. “I’m…concerned.” He glances meaningfully at the bed, and Danny knows it’s up to him to figure out what he means. He’s not being deliberately obtuse. Alex sometimes physically can’t force the words out, and it’s Danny’s job to decipher the clues.

“Don’t be. I didn’t last long the first time I topped,” he offers a supportive smile, “And it’s like you said. We’re not in any rush. We can try as many times as you’d like.”

The response is no response and Danny nods, sucking in a deep breath as he pulls off his shirt under the observation of Alex’s dark gaze, sensing this is one of those times that the man prefers to watch him disrobe first. His belt buckle clanks loudly in the silence of the room as he unfastens his jeans, and then again as they fall to the floor with his briefs and he kicks them aside. After a few agonizing moments of vacuum nothingness, he says: “You’re beautiful.”

He is unprepared for the full body blush those words inspire. Alex has never said that to him before. Maybe he’s thought it many times, too overcome in their moments of passion to speak (he’s never said a word when they were in bed together), but he says the words with the determination of a man who’s been planning to say them for quite some time, has indeed been mulling over how he would deliver the declaration, and he’s finally done it.

 _You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen_. He thinks the words reflexively, but is embarrassed to say them after Alex’s sweet, pure clarion. By contrast, Danny’s sentiments are dirty and cheap. _Don’t fuck this up_. He strides forward and grabs the front of Alex’s shirt, tearing it open, buttons spraying outwards and clattering across the hardwood floor. Alex’s face is surprised, wide eyes watching him in disbelief, and Danny offers a wolfish smile. _Good_. It feels good to surprise him, to see anything besides polite detachment on his face.

“You want to fuck me?” he asks, palming the front of Alex’s trousers, using his deeper, authoritative voice. Sometimes, Alex needs someone to guide him. His heartbeat thunders in his ears as Alex’s thick cock hardens, greeting his fingers as he strokes him through the trouser’s fine fibers.

Alex gasps and cups his face, hunching slightly, as though wishing to rest his forehead against Danny’s bare shoulder, but at the last moment buries his nose and mouth in his hair instead. “Yes,” he rasps, pelvis thrusting, grinding his erection against Danny’s welcoming hand. 

“Come on,” he instructs, pulling him by the waistband, towards the bed.

“Wait, wait,” Alex gasps, grasping the sides of his face and kissing him, the gesture’s desperateness surprising Danny. He makes a soft, simpering sound and grabs Alex around the shoulders, pressing their bare chests together, fingers raking through the thick mane of his hair, grasping, pulling gently. 

They ease apart for breath, Alex’s mouth red, wet, swollen. “You trust me?”

“Yes,” Alex answers immediately.

“I trust you too,” a tender hand smooths across Alex’s burning brow, down the side of his flushed face, “You’re going to make me feel good,” Alex’s large hands slide off his hips as he backs away, nearing the bed and fetches a small tube from the side table: a recent purchase, his favorite brand of lube. He climbs onto the bed and slowly moves onto all fours, gazing over his shoulder. “Fuck me.”

Alex is an Adonis, unknowing of his beauty, the remnants of his shirt barely clinging to his torso, erection straining against the front of his slacks. His lips are parted, eyes glassy, as he looks at Danny and the bed dips gently beneath his weight. “Shall I…?” he looks to the same bedside table, where they keep the condoms. They make clean up easier most of the time, but he misses the intimacy with Alex.

“No, I trust you,” he repeats, arching his back and dipping slowly onto his elbows, thighs spreading to give him a proper view. Heart inside his throat as he curses his thighs, which betray him with their trembling. _You’re supposed to be the experienced one_. Alex’s hands cup his cheeks and spread them and the gasp that escapes his lips is truly pathetic, but he can’t help it. His forehead rests helplessly against his forearm. “Do you remember…what I did…before?”

Words fail him, but Alex picks up the tube, having understood his meaning. He reaches between his legs and strokes slowly, stealing another glance backwards to watch. The idea of such a man would have been great wanking fodder during his youth, and now he has the good luck of being with him in bed. Alex’s wide shoulders and his heaving chest are enough to make him hard in a few seconds. Breath catches in his throat when a warm, wet digit circles his entrance and presses inside. “Gentle..at first.” In the timeline of Danny’s sexual exploration, it’s been ages since he’s been with someone. Used to be, he couldn’t go two consecutive days without fucking, but he’s been patient for Alex. For Alex, he’s waited.

“Yes,” Alex agrees, stroking his rear with the free hand, sinking the finger deeper. Danny can hear he’s breathing heavily, and when he looks back, the man has wrestled opened his trousers and shoved down the briefs so that his proud cock bobs in the air. He instinctively licks his lips.

He must moan because Alex suddenly looks to his face, and the intensity of his gaze causes a droplet to squeeze from Danny’s cock and fall, splattering the comforter. He pushes another finger inside. “Deeper,” he pants, “Curl them..slightly—Ah!” He jerks forwards, an electrical current tearing through him, and Alex freezes, probably believing he’s hurt him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he begs.

“You’re sensitive.” He’s aroused, maybe a little amused, but above all fascinated because Alex has a scientific mind and he’s learning the landscape of Danny’s body through trial and error. His fingers curl, pressing forward and down and Danny moans happily, the droplet now a steady stream soaking his cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he mewls, the quiver of his thighs now a desperate quake. Alex has to fuck him _now_ or he’s going to come. “Alex…”

“On your back,” he insists, gripping Danny’s hip and turning him. “I want you like this.”

He nods dumbly, reaching for Alex and dragging him forward by the torn edges of his shirt. His legs wrap the man’s waist as Alex adds another few drops of lube to his cock and smears it across his length. “You’re so sexy,” Danny murmurs, the words slipping out, but he’s not sorry because Alex smiles against his mouth and kisses him as he thrusts, swallowing the cry that escapes his throat.

Fingers glide through Alex’s hair, groping the back of his neck, back arching as the man braces atop him and thrusts. Their lips split apart at once, Danny gasping for breath and crying out, hand unthinkingly slapping the wall behind him. Alex grips his wrist and pins it to the mattress, perhaps mindful of the wrath of their neighbors. Danny feels his strength and groans again, wanting Alex to grab and squeeze his throat, but thinking it too early to ask for such things. He’s thankful for the silence of the room when he hears the slick push of Alex’s cock, the firm slap of hips again the curve of his ass. “Oh,” he cries again, climbing his legs higher, tilting his pelvis to find the right angle—

The rhythm falters, Alex suddenly tensing, a broken cry sailing from his mouth and Danny feels the moment he comes. He’s surprised, temporarily overwhelmed by the intimacy of the sensation, so he misses Alex’s shattered, humiliated expression, only realizing something is wrong when the man climbs off him, muttering an apology: “Sorry…I’m sorry,” as he wrestles out of the slacks and shirt, violently casting them aside in a thoroughly un-Alex maneuver. He normally treats his clothing better than most of Danny’s associates treat people.

“Alex, _Alex_ ,” he pleads, reaching for him, but the man is already sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped atop his knees, hands cradling his head. Danny kneels behind him and wraps arms around his broad shoulders, mindful to tilt back his hips (and rigid cock). His heart is still pounding, body buzzing, skin covered in a fine sheet of sweat. He’d like to say this is the best he’s felt in ages, but it will sound too pitying, no matter how true it is. He nuzzles his warm cheek, desperately kissing a naked shoulder and the slope of his cheekbone. “That felt good. We can go again in a little while.”

No answer, only the sounds of their respective breathing. He’s afraid this moment of silence will balloon into one of Alex’s prolonged periods of disconnection, when he appears to enter a different plane of consciousness where Danny and mere mortals cannot follow. But just when he’s resigned himself to a fate of slipping out of bed and drawing a bath so he can wank in private, Alex speaks: “I’m afraid…you’re going to leave. Because I’m…like this.”

“Incredibly fit and wealthy?”

It’s reflex—a deflection—because it kills Danny to know someone taught Alex to hate himself this much, and he’d rather laugh at how stupid they are, and how lucky he and Alex are, instead of humoring his lover’s anxieties. An exasperated sigh as Alex looks at him. “ _Danny_.”

 _Right_. He cups the side of his face and tenderly kisses Alex’s mouth. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“But I—“

“I don’t care.”

“What if I never—“

“I don’t _care_.” Now Alex looks confused or frustrated, like there’s something more to Danny’s promises that he can’t understand. He’s mystified. Fingertips trace the blushing slope of his cheek. “I adore you. Surely you know that. We can work on everything else, but I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His heartbeat kicks up again, a cold sensation of plummeting, and Danny doesn’t know why until he hears himself say the words: “I love you.”

Wonder fills Alex’s gaze as he looks at him, stunned, but not surprised. They’ve both known since that moment on the Thames. They’re drowning in it. They’ve already drowned.

“I love you too,” Alex whispers, sounding very young. 

 _Good_ , Danny thinks, _For once, be young with me._

He dips close for another kiss, and another, until Alex turns and climbs back into bed, rolling on top, delightfully large and heavy atop Danny. Stretched to his full height, Alex covers him entirely and he finds the sensation indescribably exciting. Speaking of—They part, casting meaningful glances to where his prick is sandwiched between their insistent pelvises. Danny is panting for breath, unable to disguise how painfully aroused he is. He wants to be tender and considerate, but he also wants to come extremely badly.

“Let me,” he offers, breathless, shimmying down the bed until his face is level with Alex’s crotch, and swallows him whole. His prick is soft, but a pleasant weight against his tongue and mouthwateringly tangy from Alex’s come. When he closes his eyes and inhales, the familiar, wonderful musk floods his nostrils. He loves doing this, but better, _Alex_ loves it. It’s one of the things they do in bed together that actually feels natural, as if they were normal men in a normal relationship. He gives Alex a strong, long suck and the man gasps, hunching over, a large hand cradling the back of Danny’s head.

One of the perks of being extremely sexually inexperienced is Alex is hard again within minutes, Danny finding himself in a similar situation as he strokes his prick in time with the bobbing of his own head. The rigid cock fills his mouth now, wet head nudging the back of his throat, making him gag a little bit (in the good way), though Alex is concerned, hips stuttering just short of thrusting. Danny knows he can’t tell Alex that he likes a bit of thrusting. Not yet.

His fingertips stroke muscular thighs and he gazes upwards to the spectacular view of Alex’s glistening, flat stomach and his panting chest. When he looks down, Danny thinks that must be what angels look like. Or Grecian gods. Alex lovingly strokes his thick locks, and if his mouth wasn’t currently occupied, Danny would give him a little smile.

“That’s enough,” he suddenly gasps, Danny’s mouth sliding off with a wet pop.

He means to say something snarky, but Alex handles him roughly, insistent fingers wrapping his arms and dragging him upwards. “Oh,” he remarks, pleasantly surprised. _Hello_ , he thinks as his legs wrap Alex’s waist and he notes the look of fierce determination on his face. “I think—” the rest flies from his brain when Alex shoves back inside and Danny’s hand whips down, clapping against a pert cheek, fingertips digging into the flesh and holding on as the man thrusts. 

A howl tears from his throat, free fingertips groping, traveling along the bed sheets, tracing the headboard, seeking purchase along the wall as Alex fucks him— _exquisitely_ , Danny notes, somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind—not that he’s is in any position to articulate the praise. He is a writhing, yowling animal, embarrassingly unravelled, but Alex seems to be feeding off his energy, grunting in exertion on every thrust as though exorcising a demon living inside him. Danny reaches for him, pulling Alex down by the sides of his face so they can kiss—or not kiss, because it requires breath they don’t have, but their lips touch and breathe one another’s air as Alex ruts between his thighs.

“Alex…” he weakly warns before coming across his stomach, without the assistance of either their hands, something that has never happened before. Danny collapses to the bed, amazed, aware of the occasional moan that emits from his mouth as Alex continues to fuck him. He encouragingly strokes the man’s back, reaching down to grip his ass, dragging him forward because he wants Alex to come inside him again—this time as a grand finale.

“Go on, go on,” he grunts, thighs quivering as they tighten around his waist.

Alex’s eyes are clenched shut, brow furrowed in an almost pained expression when he comes, and Danny watches him the entire time, fascinated by the man’s utter silence upon release. He’s concerned for a moment, thinking Alex may be in pain, but when he opens his eyes, something like relief washes across his face and he smiles down at him. Such discipline can only be displayed by a man who has been told his whole life to keep quiet. The thought inspires a familiar pang of sadness that he frequently feels when considering Alex’s past.

“You’re sexy when you moan,” he whispers, stroking Alex’s brow, pushing back the damp fringe. He’s found mentioning the sad details of Alex’s behavior doesn’t do much good, so he’s trying a strategy of encouragement instead. The answer is shy, bashful silence, but Alex does lean down to kiss him, and Danny reciprocates until the man rolls away and they separate to rest side-by-side on the bed. Fingers laced, Alex kisses the backs of his knuckles and the pulse of his wrist. Danny watches him for a while. “Was that as you imagined?”

The corner of Alex’s mouth upturns slowly. “Better.”

“ _Really_?” Danny asks, tone suggestive as he shimmies closer towards him. “Were you thinking about it a lot? At work?”

Perhaps a poor choice of words. Alex’s eyes darken, even though that shouldn’t really count as Danny asking about his work because he wasn’t—he didn’t even ask about any details of what Alex does—and it was really a general comment about Alex’s thought process whilst at work and if he’s actively daydreaming about fucking Danny. Two entirely different lines of questioning. But before Danny can launch into the explanation, Alex speaks and so radically departs from topic that he forgets to double back and say his piece: “I don’t want you walking to the shop by yourself anymore.”

He’s so surprised that his initial answer is a blank stare, and then: “Why?”

“I’ll pay for a car. You shouldn’t walk through that dodgy neighborhood.”

“It’s hardly _dodgy_. Maybe the odd teenager walking about, but—”

“It’s settled. You’re not walking.”

Danny watches him for a moment, brow furrowed while attempting to suss out what’s going on. Maybe this is how Alex shows affection: worrying about his partner’s safety as he walks through what Alex perceives to be dangerous territory. He’s trying not to be young and foolish anymore, flying into confrontation with a depleted arsenal of rationality and surplus of burning anger. Danny doesn’t like the feeling of a leash, but he also doesn’t want to ruin things with Alex. 

“Fine, if it means that much to you.” And to be sure they’re on the same page, he leans close and presses a kiss to his lips.

Any lingering heat from his temper diminishes when Alex reaches down and grips a thigh. He has very large hands and the fingers look as though they could completely encircle Danny’s thigh if they willed it. Alex drags him forward, draping the leg over his hip and Danny smirks, arms looping his shoulders as he dives in for another kiss.


	3. The Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Alex go on a picnic and Danny shares a secret from his past

Up the road winds like a yellow vein cutting through the green background, which represents countryside and there’s _loads_ of that. Danny is consistently amazed by how much _nothing_ there still is in England. London is such a massive sprawling metropolis that it’s easy to forget there’s ages of this: sprawling, verdant fields, virtually untouched by human feet. Alex is a lover of traditional cartography and Danny struggles to control the sheet without wrinkling or creating any new creases (Alex is very particular about how he stores the maps, always adhering to the original folds). “Uh, we should be close…up here on the right,” he says, squinting at the map. 

Alex is silent as he navigates the car up a small hill, wheels shimmying and dipping along the uneven surface, and as predicted a blue lake appears at the horizon. “Well done,” he remarks, actually impressed, and Danny feels a warm burst inside his chest. 

“Told you,” he chirps, beginning the lengthy process of re-folding the map as Alex veers off the road—hardly a road, really, more a dirt path—and parks.

This is the farthest they’ve travelled for a country walk, foreign terrain that not even Alex has hiked. Danny feels giddy knowing this will be a first for them both, a memory chiseled into stone that the two of them will be able to savor forever. Years from now, they’ll be able to dig out the emblem of this day together from the deep cavern of their memories, dust it off, and think _Ah, yes_. Folded map tucked under his arm, he climbs from the car and stands with Alex at the popped boot, considering the open trunk and rows of neatly stacked maps, a black gap staring back at him where the plucked map is meant to reside. A missing tooth amidst a row of pearly whites. 

Alex pulls out some items from the trunk and larger boot and spends a moment primly depositing them inside a rucksack: the map, a blanket, emergency medical kit, flashlights, Zippo lighter. Danny’s eyes glaze a bit watching all the preparation. The man sits on the edge of the boot when it comes time to exchange his dress shoes for Wellies. “Wish you’d let me buy you a pair,” he comments, glancing at Danny’s Vans. Last time, he made the mistake of complaining about his cold, wet feet and Alex hasn’t let it go since.

“I’m fine,” he insists, reaching into the car to pick up the wicker basket by its handle. He’s most excited about their dinner, a combined effort including a lovely bottle of wine. Danny has never been on a picnic before. His previous acquaintances weren’t exactly the picnicking types. The idea of it excites him due to its foreignness, like a scene in some movie where everyone wears white and the women carry parasols. He adds, by way of compromise, since they both know his toes will soon be frozen: “We’ll find a nice spot and build a fire.”

“I was thinking we could hike a bit and build one here,” Alex remarks, glancing meaningfully at the lake. “Like the first time.”

Danny’s heartbeat gives a happy skip, pleased Alex remembers the bonfire those months ago, choosing to remember the romantic aspects of that evening and not their terse exchange about soul mates. Their first tiff. Silly, really. More a misunderstanding than anything else. _A nasty crack in the foundation_ , Scottie’s voice unhelpfully supplies. He realizes Alex is staring at him: “Yes, let’s,” he smiles sunnily, whimsically swinging the basket in the hopes of making Alex smile.

It works.

He leaves the basket in the car and buttons his jacket while Alex closes the boot and locks it by jamming his thumb against the clicker. The horn beeps to confirm lockage. He lingers by the bumper, squinting in the direction from which they drove. Danny’s chin dips under his collar, hiding from the chilly air as he follows the line of his gaze. “Are there other hikers?” Voice concerned. Alex prefers they be alone on their walks.

“No, let’s go,” he says and trudges off in the direction of a line of trees.

Danny has to jog a couple steps to keep up with him, but then their stride finds a natural, familiar rhythm: brisk, but not so fast that Danny can’t talk. He is the driving force of all their conversations, frequently straying into babbling territory sometimes (though less these days) because he’s comfortable with Alex’s preference for long periods of silence where the sound of their feet crunching against the grass fills their ears. In those moments, Danny listens to Alex’s breathing and wind rustling the trees. 

This must be meditation. He decides he likes it.

He tells Alex about the outing with Scottie last night and their journey to a depressing club. He’d decided to go out because Alex has been working longer hours than usual these days and sometimes doesn’t come home until daybreak. Danny hates sleeping alone in Alex’s flat, so he’s been sleeping in his old bed and trying not to feel sad about it. “It was dark and everyone just sat in booths and listened to the performers. No one even danced.” _Crunch, crunch, crunch_. Alex says nothing but Danny knows he’s listening. He simply chooses not to comment. “I want you two to meet,” he adds for the eighth or ninth time. He’s been not-so-subtly crowbarring the idea of Alex finally meeting his best friend in the world into every possible conversation _for weeks_.

Crunching, trees rustling, but no birds chirping. Maybe because it’s so cold or because it’s getting dark, the red sun sinking low and painting the sky gorgeous shades of purple and orange. Danny thinks about taking a photo of them with the sunset at their backdrop but knows the phone lens won’t capture its real beauty, and Alex hates having his picture taken anyway. “Perhaps one day,” Alex says eventually.

The most concrete gesture of commitment to meeting Scottie yet. Danny smiles and takes Alex’s hand, lacing their fingers, and they walk like that for a while until Alex can tell Danny is satisfied and he can safely slip his hand free without hurting his feelings.

 

* * *

 

Alex builds the fire as Danny arranges the checkered blanket and their food. A fine spread: cheeses, crackers, olives, deviled egg potato salad, green beans, and mojito watermelon wedges. He de-corks the wine just as Alex gets the fire going, black smoke billowing moments before the orange flames appear and spread across the dry kindling. He smiles and offers a watermelon wedge to Alex as the man joins him on the blanket. “Cheers,” he sighs, sinking his teeth into the pink meat. “Mm, quite good.” 

“More a daytime menu, but it’ll do,” Danny teases, pouring them each a plastic flute of wine. They ceremoniously clink before quietly staring up at the night sky while lazily grazing. Alex reclines backwards onto his elbows, chin pointed towards the heavens, and Danny tries to discreetly glance his way every once in a while. He’s trying not to think about the last time they built a bonfire by a lake, but he can’t help it. He’d felt so foolish and exposed. 

Suddenly, Alex points at the sky. “There. See that bright star?” Danny nods. “It’s called Sirius or the Dog Star, part of the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog,” his hand waves through the air, “See? That’s the head,” hand swooping down and to the left, “And that’s the tail,” fingers cascading like falling stars, “The leg…”

“I’m utterly unsurprised that you are one of those people who knows all the constellations,” Danny smirks, arm playfully nudging Alex’s shoulder.

The man’s mouth curls appealing at the corner—Alex’s secret smile. He displays them as if he has a limited supply so Danny feels extremely fortunate anytime he’s around to witness one. “That’s nothing,” he teases, proceeding to sweep his hand across the night’s sky, rattling off a plethora of constellations: Canis Major, Cetus, Eridanus, Gemini, Orion, Perseus, and Taurus. 

“I know the last one. It’s an astronomy sign.”

“Astrological,” Alex corrects, casting a curious look his way, “You believe in the Zodiac?”

“Oh yeah,” Danny nods, popping an olive into his mouth and chewing as he continues, “I’m a Pisces, through-and-through. We’re dreamers.” Alex looks amused watching him and his face warms from the attention, “You never told me your birthday. I don’t even know your sign.”

“I don’t believe in all that,” Alex responds, looking back to the sky.

Danny remembers their conversation about soul mates and decides to leave it. Scottie asks: _What’s that say about you two, if you can’t even ask him his birthday?_ A valid question, which is why it annoys Danny so much. He picks up a flute and downs the remainder of his wine in one go then refills it a second time. He downs that too as Alex watches the sky. The alcohol helps to quash his aggravation, followed by the familiar warm buzz and pull of attraction when he glances Alex’s way. He touches a smooth cheek, tilting back Alex’s head, and leans down to kiss him.

His mouth is sweet from the watermelon and Danny makes a soft noise of approval, lungs pulling in a sharp intake of air when Alex cradles the back of his neck, dragging him down to deepen the embrace. Danny wonders if they’ll have sex outside, though he doubts it. Alex is too timid to dabble in exhibitionism.

No matter. The sound of tires on gravel breaks the spell, and when Danny looks over to the road, he sees a pair of headlights on the horizon. “They’re a long way out,” he remarks. Their location was chosen, first and foremost, because of its remote location.

Alex says nothing for a few moments as he looks at the visitors before suddenly standing and proceeding to gather their picnicking items. “We should be off.”

Surprised, Danny stares up at him. “Really? Why? They’re probably just campers.” He watches Alex haphazardly shoves things into the wicker basket, so unlike his meticulous self that it unnerves Danny, who laughs because he doesn’t understand what’s happening and feels the same strange pulse of fear he experiences any time Alex’s odd behavior derails into bizarre territory. “ _Alex_ ,” he insists, gripping the man’s hand to stop him, just as the car reverses away from the lake and disappears back over the horizon. “There, you see? They were lost.”

Alex’s hand is cold and damp with perspiration. Danny covers it with his other hand and strokes the backs of his fingers. Gradually, the spell releases Alex, shoulders relaxing as he nods and looks down at him. “I want to be alone with you,” he explains, a rather romantic explanation that makes Danny’s head light with giddiness. 

He smiles brightly. “It’s just us. Come sit with me.”

They sit by the fire, Danny resting between Alex’s legs, the man’s arms wrapped around his waist, Danny’s head reclined against his shoulder. He feels like warm liquid from the wine, a thrill running down his spine each time Alex turns his head, nose and mouth burying in Danny’s hair: to smell him, to occasionally dip down and kiss the curve of his neck. Everything is perfect, and he wills his mind to accept this fact, but it’s impossible to silence the nagging voice in his brain that points out Alex and Scottie will meet—hopefully very soon—and he better make sure Alex knows every sordid detail of his past in case it should come up in conversation.

Not that Scottie would ever deliberately sabotage this, a relationship that makes Danny feel utterly whole, but in his quest to protect Danny he may inadvertently share some embarrassing details.

Alex knows the biggest secret: his drug-fueled night of ill-advised marathon sex with anonymous partners. Danny’s face burns in shame just remembering having to share that part of his past with Alex, but thankfully the response was understanding and forgiveness. Because Alex is perfect and his soul mate. 

However, that doesn’t mean Alex knows _everything_ about him. They’ve only been together seven months, hardly enough time to shine a light into every haunted crevice. “I wanted to tell you…” he begins, but embarrassingly his voice breaks and he has to pause to clear his throat. _How to phrase this_? Alex’s grip on his waist goes slack and Danny is able to turn so they can gaze at each other. Strangely, it’s easier to confess these things looking straight into Alex’s eyes. “Scottie has known me for many years, and it may come up…” He trails off, cursing himself for being so inarticulate, “He’s known my previous boyfriends. They’re…” _A parade of wankers_. “I didn’t always have the best taste in men.” Alex looks at him, waiting. _Tell him. He’d never leave you. Not over this_. “One of them in particular was very nasty. He was rough with me—”

“He hit you?” 

The interruption startles Danny. Usually, Alex is very patient and measured when he speaks. 

“He was a very unhappy man,” Danny clarifies, nodding because he thinks, _yes_ , _that’s a fair description_. “He was in a sham marriage. I said he should leave her, and I think he thought I meant that I would tell her about us—which, I would never _, ever_ do,” he emphasizes, gazing earnestly at Alex. For some reason, it feels deeply important to convey the fact that he is not the type of man to emotionally blackmail anyone, “I would never have outed him to his family. He had children…” Danny trails off, cheeks and the back of his neck hot with embarrassment because _what a mess_ his life used to be, “We got into a big row over it, and he’d been drinking…and taking pills…and, yes, he hit me. He knocked me down, and I don’t remember much after that, but I ran to Scottie afterwards. I had a black eye and split lip…”

“What’s his name?” Alex demands.

The request surprises Danny. Why could he possibly want his ex-boyfriend’s name? “It doesn’t matter.” He adds, a moment later, sheepishly: “I wish I could say I left him…after the first time. I didn’t leave until the third…encounter. Scottie set me right about him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alex remarks, voice calm and level once more as though the outburst never happened, as if his emotions are safely bridled again. He stares off into the flames and Danny doesn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, enormously grateful that Alex doesn’t judge him for his poor taste in partners—up until now, of course. 

“I wanted to believe in love so badly…” Danny murmurs, a little sadly, though he braves a small smile when Alex looks his way. The man leans close to him and they kiss, tenderly, Alex’s strong arms holding him. “The problem was that I was looking for you and I found him instead,” he whispers against his soft lips.

“I’m here now.” The words unleash a delightful shiver and Danny hums, their mouths pressing together for a sweet, lingering kiss. They’re sitting so close together that Danny can see the individual pores dusting Alex’s cheeks, the flames casting shadows along his cheeks and under his nose. “You two are close,” he murmurs, apropos of nothing, momentarily baffling Danny.

Eventually realizing that the remark is in reference to Scottie. “Yes,” he agrees, smiling, “He’s very protective of me. That’s why he’s been badgering me about meeting you.”

Alex quietly observes him until Danny misses the touch of his lips and drags him forward by the front of his jacket to resume where they left off.

 

* * *

 

Eventually they decide to leave, when the flames dip low and transform into smoldering black pillars. Danny’s first traitorous shiver forces Alex to his feet, dismissing his objections with the simple observation: “You’re cold. It’s late,” as he gathers their things: jars, flutes, flatware, tupperware, corkscrew and plates, depositing them back inside the basket, and strapping the rucksack over his shoulders while Danny folds the blanket and tucks it under his arm. Danny holds up the empty wine bottle in silent question. Alex hates littering but there’s no trash bin within eyesight. “We’ll take it,” he decides and Danny nods, empty vessel swinging at his side during the journey back to their vehicle. 

He’s had more to drink than his partner and as a consequence nods off during the journey back into the city. When he wakes, the blanket is jammed between his head and the window, a makeshift pillow he must have constructed moments before dropping off. “Sorry,” he murmurs, flashing a sheepish smile at Alex, who is looking at the road as he drives. Blearily, Danny looks around, realizing they’re in Alex’s neighborhood, moments from home.

The man smiles slowly. “You talk in your sleep.”

“Do I?” he asks, surprised. “Nothing embarrassing, I hope.”

“I couldn’t understand the words but you looked peaceful.”

Alex parks on the street and the cold air wakes up Danny a bit when they alight. Inside, they spend a few moments in silence putting away the equipment and then walk together to the bedroom. Danny begins stripping as soon as he passes through the doorway, feeling invigorated by the time he sheds his jeans and briefs. “No doubt we smell like a fire,” he jokes, glancing over his shoulder to find Alex standing by the door, gazing at the archipelago of clothing leading from the entry to Danny, by the bed. “Oh…I’ll clean that up,” he offers, afraid Alex is having one of his moments where he reverts back to anxiety over Danny’s messy habits.

He begins to walk back to the abandoned sweater but Alex meets him halfway and grips the sides of his face. “I don’t care about the clothing,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss him, firmer than before—less romance, more insistence. His tongue pushes forth demandingly and Danny whimpers. He clings to Alex’s shoulders, clawing the fabric of his t-shirt into his fists and yanking upwards until they’re forced to separate so he can pull it up and over his head. He smiles when Alex appears again, hair disheveled. The man’s mouth curves in a subtler version of Danny’s expression. Wordlessly, they wind around each other like vines: Danny’s arms looping his neck, Alex gripping his waist, and resume necking. Their chests touch and Danny moans, delighting in the feeling of the light dusting of hair on Alex’s chest rubbing against his bare flesh.

Backing towards the bed, Danny feels another wave of intoxication—a remnant from the wine, a byproduct of being with Alex. He’s been forgetting the date lately, his work shift times, friends’ birth dates. His whole world is waiting for this moment, then immediately reminiscing fondly about it, and anxiously waiting for the next one. _Alex, Alex…_

The bed’s edge buckles his knees and he flops against the mattress, laughing in surprise. Alex is flushed, pupils blown, cheeks ruddy as he sheds the rest of his clothing and parts Danny’s thighs so he can climb onto the mattress between them. Breath catches in his throat as Alex descends, plush mouth worshipfully splaying a path of wet kisses down the center of Danny’s chest and across his stomach. His fingers curl in Alex’s thick hair for purchase.

“I wanted…” Alex’s hot breath against his hipbone.

Danny gazes down into the earnestness of his gaze. “You enjoyed last time?” he teases, smiling, fingertips trailing along the side of his face.

“It was incredible,” Alex replies, so sincere that Danny’s throat reflexively tightens.

His back arches off the bed and twists as he reaches for the bedside table, collecting the lubricant tube and depositing it in Alex’s palm. A grin splits his lips when the man’s face lights up and he quickly uncaps the tube, wetting his fingers. The eagerness is flattering, especially coming from a man of Alex’s caliber. It’s not that there’s a shortage of men in London who will tell Danny he’s fit and thoroughly fuckable, but the declaration has never come from a good, decent man. The knowledge makes him feel lightheaded with happiness, as though this validation might extend to other facets of his life. Perhaps approval from Alex means other things are possible. He could be a professional one day. Maybe publish some of his writing.

Coherent thoughts flutter from his head the moment Alex’s lubricated finger sinks inside. Danny sucks in air through his teeth, legs drawing up to his chest to give him more room, fingers wrapping his length and stroking slowly. The blood is already rushing into his cock, making it hard and heavy in his hand. He licks his lips, watching Alex dutifully work, touched by how worried he looks—that he may be doing it wrong, that he may be going too fast. He pushes a second finger in (the middle to join his index) and looks back at Danny.

“It’s good,” he rasps, hoping to encourage him to go faster. The alcohol is making him too hot, too quickly. He grips Alex by the shoulders, pulling him upwards and wraps his legs around his waist. “It’s alright,” he gasps, feeling the hesitancy in Alex’s body, knowing the man is very particular about how he readies Danny for sex, just as he is about every other aspect of his life. “I’m ready. I want it. C’mon…”

 _Easy. Not too much_. The wild animal inside claws against his skin, growling and gnashing its teeth, determined to maul its way out. _And this, after only two glasses of wine_. _Imagine what he’d think if he saw you after sniffing a few poppers_. “Danny…” Alex whispers against his cheek, beautiful erection pressed and weeping against his thigh, just out of reach. He’s still too afraid to listen to what Danny is telling him.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he babbles, reaching down to grip Alex’s cock to physically guide him forward as he arranges his hips, the head pressing against his entrance. “ _Fuck me_.”

An answer is on the tip of Alex’s tongue, but Danny grips his hips and drags him forwards as he shoves downward. Alex breaches him roughly and the little flash of pain is exquisite, the best thing he’s felt yet, and a howl explodes out of him—the beast’s clarion bray. A terrible moment of sobriety follows when the coherent part of his brain notes this all may be too much for Alex—that the man might finally realize he’s fallen in with a kinky bit of trash and cast him out to be collected along with the rest of the rubbish—but when he peels back to see Alex, his face is a mask of pleasure: lips agape, forehead creased in effort as he fights off his looming orgasm.

He understands. Alex has a secret animal too, but the desperate hunger manifests in different ways.

Danny casts no demands upon him for thirty seconds, allowing Alex to gather himself, but finally his breathing calms as he braces himself, hips pulling back and snapping forward roughly. He yelps, head thumping against the bed, vision swimming a bit. “Good?” Alex pants, voice tinged with worry.

“ _Fuck_ , so good,” Danny whispers, reaching down to grip his firm rear.

New objective in hand, Alex rides him hard for a solid minute, Danny bucking beneath him, heels snapping against the man’s flanks and back. Mouth agape in breathless wonder, Danny glances between them, observing his cock leak steadily against his stomach and Alex’s length disappear between his thighs. This is already lightyears ahead of last time, and it seems as though Alex is a fast learner in bed, just as he is in other areas. A chorus of profanity leaves him in desperate puffs: _oh fuck, oh fuck, Alex…_

Dimly, he wishes for articulateness beyond the utter filth escaping him, but his brain can’t summon anything except its most base responses. The really bad stuff, the impulses, Danny keeps locked away in the deep recesses of his brain. Not even the alcohol can pry them loose because he doesn’t want to frighten Alex, and besides, he’s not greedy. Covered in perspiration, they writhe together, the solid muscles of Alex’s abdomen grinding against his erection. 

Danny grips his biceps, delighting in the powerful flex of muscles, reminded again of how thoroughly masculine Alex is. The musky smell of him alone is making him dizzy and distantly Danny understands that he’s going to climax—very soon. “Alex…” he pleads, reaching, and the man is eager to oblige by draping atop him, kissing his mouth with matching intensity. “Come inside me,” he gasps against his soft lips. _Trash_ , the unhelpful voice declares, but Danny doesn’t care. Alex doesn’t think he’s trash and that’s all that matters.

Any other time, he would never ask for this. He’s always safe, but Alex is his soul mate and they’re going to grow old together. He trusts him. Above all else, he trusts him.

As usual, Alex can’t summon the willpower to answer, but the disciplined facade slips for a split second when he thrusts deep and a broken groan escapes his throat. The sound is so unspeakably sexy that it alone nearly makes Danny violently come. He surges upwards, locking his legs around Alex’s waist and yanking him downwards, deliberately tightening inner muscles to pull another keen out by its roots. Alex doesn’t disappoint: this time a louder moan erupts from his mouth and Danny kisses him, wanting to feel the vibrations against his teeth.

Alex raggedly ruts between his thighs until they begin to tremble and Danny is amazed when he comes first, once more without the aid of his hands, and Alex follows close behind with a desperate pumping of his hips, each stroke coaxing another pathetic mewl from Danny’s throat. “Oh my God,” he laughs, pushing the damp fringe from his burning brow and smiling at Alex’s flushed face. The man pants for breath, mouth agape, but he laughs and nods in silent agreement. _Bloody hell._

“Do you prefer it…like that?”

 _Careful_. 

“I like everything we do, but…” Danny smiles, hoping to beguile his way through uncharted waters, “That was really good. Did you like it?” Alex laughs, as if the question is silly and Danny soon joins him because, _yeah_ , that was indisputably good. Of course Alex liked it. It was the best sex of his life. Danny pauses to think about it and realizes it was the best sex of his life too. Every time with Alex is the best time, even with their little hiccups and misunderstandings, because they love each other and that always makes the sex better.

Alex climbs off him and they clean up with the assistance of baby wipes, collapsing together in bed afterwards, Alex’s arm lazily looped around his shoulders, Danny’s head resting against his chest so he can listen to his heart beating. His mind wanders, as it always does post-coital, and he begins to think about Scottie and his other friends—how some of them teased Danny for a while because they didn’t believe Alex was real simply because they never met him. His flatmates knocked that off once they spotted Alex a couple times in passing at the flat, but those were more accidental encounters than organized meetings. _What? Is he too posh to meet us?_ they tease, but Danny has begun to take it to heart.

He reaches over to the bedside table and picks up his phone, switches to the camera and holds it up to capture their image in the screen. Alex’s hand quickly extends and covers the phone. “Don’t,” he warns.

Truthfully, Danny predicted the reaction, but he doesn’t want to admit he’s picking a fight because a normal person wouldn’t aggravate an old wound so soon after spectacular sex. Not unless that person has a permanent penchant for ruining nice things. “We don’t have any photos together,” he pouts.

The corner of Alex’s mouth flicks upward. “I don’t like to have my photo taken.”

“Fine, then I’ll take a selfie and text it to you.” Danny reaches for his phone, but Alex steals and keeps it out of reach. When he overcompensates and reaches again, Alex rolls them and pins Danny under him.

“I prefer you in real life,” the man murmurs, dipping down to kiss him. A smooth line. Ordinarily it would work, but for some reason, this time it makes Danny’s face burn in anger because it seems like Alex is trying to handle him—to quickly squelch this disagreement, which may seem silly, but is a symptom of a much bigger problem. “I’ve memorized every inch of you,” Alex whispers, kissing along Danny’s cheek, across his jawline. It feels wonderful, he silently (and begrudgingly) concedes.

He blurts: “Are you embarrassed of me?”

Alex is still holding his phone, but seems to have forgotten about it as he stares down at Danny, shocked. “Embarrased?”

“I know I’m not like your posh co-workers…”

“You’ve never met them.”

The blush of Danny’s cheeks darkens. “I don’t even have a key to your flat.”

“Why do you need a key? You’re always with me.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve been working long hours. I don’t see you for an entire day sometimes, Alex. And you won’t tell me what you’re working on.” Alex stares at him, surprised into speechlessness, which aggravates Danny all the more. Surely, this can’t be the first time he’s suspected that their relationship isn’t normal. “You won’t meet my friends and I don’t know anything about you.” 

The horrifying realization that he’s breathing heavily, his throat tightening. _Don’t cry. Don’t. You’re not a child_. A horrible moment of Déjà vu: laying with a man in bed, naked and vulnerable, crying, feeling used.

Gently, Alex places the phone onto the bedding and touches the side of his face. “Danny…” he whispers, voice so tender that Danny immediately wants to apologize. “Look at me.” At some point, he closed his eyes. Reluctantly, Danny opens them and gazes into the abundantly patient and kind face of his lover. “I think about you all the time. Every moment of the day, I think about you. I can’t tell you what I do because of security restrictions, but everything I do is for you—for us.”

A mutinous tear fights its way to freedom, sliding down his cheek, and Alex makes a soft sound, as though he’s been wounded, while brushing it away. “Oh…” he replies, weakly.

“I’m sorry we haven’t been spending as much time together. I’ll rearrange my schedule.”

“No, I don’t want—”

“It’s done,” Alex concludes, flashing a cautious smile, perhaps wondering if he’s still in trouble. For good measure, he adds: “I want to meet Scottie. Pick a date and time.”

“Really?” he whispers, a pathetic smile breaking across his face before he can stop it. _There. I told you all. He loves me._

The man cups his face and kisses his brow, his lips. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were so upset.”

Danny sniffs, forgetting to feel self-conscious about the pitiful display because Alex has said yes to meeting Scottie, which is a sign that he’s serious about their relationship. Muffled laughter when Alex leans down to gently nuzzle his cheek, an apology, seeking permission to kiss him, which he does a moment later, Danny’s hands tracing the swells of his shoulders and trailing along the ropey muscles of his back.

“I’ll take some time off,” Alex promises, something he’s said many times before but is never able to fulfill because his work is so important and they, whoever _they_ are, apparently can’t make due without him. _Because he’s brilliant and important_. “I mean it,” he adds, breath hot against the shell of Danny’s ear, perhaps detecting some apprehension, “For Christmas. We’ll stay here and exchange gifts. I’ll build a fire, you can make hot cocoa…” Danny smiles slowly because this was a specific request he made weeks ago, to which Alex never replied, so he had naturally assumed this was the man’s way of politely declining the idea. After all, Alex doesn’t seem like the type to embrace holiday garishness.

“We’ll get a tree? Hang the tinsel?” Danny teases, wondering how far he can push this.

“Yes, whatever you want.” Alex leans back to hopefully gaze at him and Danny feels a pang of guilt. He’s never been able to use emotional manipulation to his advantage for very long. Makes him feel nauseous. Maybe because he’s been led on so many times in the past. 

“I’d like that,” he whispers, leaning up to press their lips together. 

Eventually, Alex rolls to the side and they resume their usual position: Alex splayed on his back, Danny curled against his side, using the broad expanse of his chest as a pillow, fingertips idly playing in his chest hair. “You’re not cross?” Alex asks a moment later and Danny’s cheek pulls against his pectoral as he smiles. The man always has to double check when it comes to Danny’s emotions.

“I’m not…” No reply, so Danny props his chin on Alex’s chest to look at him. He prefers for Danny to look at him as he speaks. “I’m not.”

Intelligent eyes examine his expression for a moment and Danny basks in the attention, wondering what Alex sees, if he’s converting the angles of his face into maths and filing them away in special drawers. The way he usually breaks the spell is by leaning up to kiss Alex, which is what he does now, all the anxiety and questions washed away by the insistence of Danny’s love.


	4. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Alex celebrate Christmas together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this in honor of London Spy's finale tonight! I know everyone is going to be experiencing some intense feels and I hope this bit of smut/fluff helps ease the pain :D On a related note: thank you to everyone I've met/chatted with in this new, baby fandom. You bbs are the best!

Danny wakes to an empty bed. A leisurely moment of gluttonous stretching, limbs akimbo as hands grope for each corner of the bed. He groans in pleasure, joints cracking, back arched, and then all at once deflates back to the mattress. A mixture of his and Alex’s scents billows around him and he luxuriates for a while, listening to the silence of the apartment—sound proof windows shielding his ears from the noises of the city.

Christmas morning. Alex must have slipped out early to get in a morning run. He has a natural internal clock that wakes him with the rising of the sun, and Danny never stirs when he moves about the bedroom, locating his running gear and sitting on the edge of the bed to tie his trainers. The man never invites him to run because they both know that would be folly. Danny would probably drop dead in the middle of Waterloo Bridge when his heart exploded from the exertion. Fortunately, Alex isn’t one of those health nutters who constantly evangelizes about his clean lifestyle. The farthest he’s taken it in their relationship is subtly suggesting Danny should quit smoking (which he’s working on…sort of).

Arms folded behind his head, Danny considers the ceiling and then surveys the sparse accouterments of the bedroom: the white, lacquered wardrobe and marching bureau, Danny’s clothes scattered around the bedroom floor, leading to his Vans which rest like a tumor in the midst of Alex’s pristine abode, a sole disrespectfully turned upwards. 

The sound of the front door opening steals his attention and he listens to Alex’s labored breathing and footfalls before the door opens and he’s standing in the bedroom. Danny smiles broadly, wiggling his fingers in greeting, unselfconscious that he’s completely nude because, well, Alex has seen every inch of him already. There are no more secrets between them. The man is dressed in his usual running gear: matching grey tracksuit, an appealing V of perspiration stretching across his chest. 

Alex smirks and shakes his head as he bends down to untie the trainers. “Sleep well?” he teases.

“Very well,” Danny purrs, watching him slip out of the shoes and nudge them away from the door. The top of his trackie bottoms are a bit wet too and Danny moves onto his elbows, thoroughly interested once he begins thinking of _sweat_ and Alex’s skin and the curve of his nether regions. Alex has a spectacular rear. “When do we begin the celebration?” His feet sway back and forth suggestively. A morning romp would be nice, even if Alex is covered in perspiration.

Alex’s glowing face smiles as he walks from the room. “After I shower,” he says right before disappearing around the corner.

Abandoned, Danny huffs in disappointment. The man is very particular about his hygienic routine, highly committed to grooming habits and particular sequence of shaving soap, hair product, cologne. 

Still…

Danny picks up his head and squints at the door. Instinct drives him to swing his legs off the bed and saunter from the room, down the hallway to the washroom. He smirks when the open door greets him. When Alex wants total privacy, he closes the door. If the door is _open_ , however, it means he wants something but is too timid (or lacks the vocabulary) to ask for it. He slips inside. Steam billows over the top of the shower’s frosted glass, the shadow of Alex’s figure planted beneath the hot spray, fingers combing through his hair. Danny doesn’t speak because there’s no reason to. They’re both aware of the silent invitation, just as Danny knows Alex has been listening for his arrival and already knows he’s here.

He simply slides open the door and steps into the shower, closing it behind him. Alex’s back is to him, head bowed, the hot water pounding the back of his head and running in great rivulets between shoulder blades and along the dip in his lower back. The man is still ignoring him, _still pretending_. Danny’s mouth curves because he rather likes this game. It makes him feel wildly powerful. He steps forward and gently runs his fingertips along Alex’s slick shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to the base of the man’s neck.

A shiver travels along Alex’s spine, and still he says nothing. _That’s alright. I know what you want_. He glances to the window ledge and spots the familiar silver tube. _Oh, Alex_. Even when he wants something so badly, to the point of planting accessories the night before to achieve his goal, he still can’t bring himself to ask for it. Instead, he leaves a breadcrumb trail, desperately hoping Danny will spot the clues. Lucky for him, Danny is indeed a very keen observer. 

“Be a good boy and lean forward for me.” He watches, mesmerized, as the man obeys, slowly leaning forward to brace against the wall, forehead resting on his folded forearms, spine gracefully curved. Danny swallows thickly as his hands slide down the length of Alex’s muscular back and give his wet cheeks a firm squeeze. He can feel the disruption in Alex’s breathing, how the air catches in his throat when Danny’s fingertips graze the crevice between the cheeks. 

In a fight, a man like Alex could best him in a matter of seconds, but here, in this moment, Danny is king. He inhales the steam slowly, willing the pounding of his heart to slow to a more reasonable rhythm as a fingertip brushes against Alex’s tight entrance. Finally, the man makes an audible sound—more specifically, a gasp—and Danny’s cock twitches in answer. The water coats Alex’s entire body, giving his flesh the appearance of marble. Like a gorgeous statue. Danny’s no art expert, but he once saw a photo of Michelangelo’s _David_ and never forgot the fit and beautiful image. That’s how Alex looks: like a work of art.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, reaching down to stroke Alex’s muscular thighs, palms dipping down to grip his hardening cock. Alex rocks backwards, grunting, forehead still mashed against his forearms. His hair is matted to the back of his skull, the waves subdued. Danny picks up the tube and spreads dollops of lube (thank you, waterproofing) over his fingers. “My beautiful man,” he whispers, kissing Alex’s shoulder as he slides a finger into him.

“Ah…” Alex’s eyes are pinched shut, Danny notices when he leans against him, knowing the man can hold his weight. One hand pumps between Alex’s legs, the water serving as a natural lubricant, his fingers’ ministrations and the warm environment coaxing him to full attention in seconds. 

Danny wonders why he didn’t think of fucking in the shower sooner. Usually, Alex comes multiple times when they have sex and this will make clean up much easier. He expertly curls his finger and Alex makes the same abbreviated noise, thrusting back against him, then forward into his fist as though unable to decide which feels better. Danny presses against him, the water ricocheting off Alex’s back and lightly spraying him in the face. He kisses a shoulder blade again, gently biting the flesh as he sinks a second finger into him.

Alex is better at this part these days. The first time, Danny could barely fit a finger inside him due to a lack of experience and Alex being tragically tense. Even so, he likes to check on him periodically so Alex knows there’s an out if he needs it. “Good?” he whispers, craning his neck to see the side of Alex’s face. His cheek is now pressed to an extended arm, brow furrowed, lips parted, but he nods slightly. He presses the fingers deep and Alex responds as though he’s been electrocuted, surging forward, and Danny has to follow him or his fingers will slide out. The man gasps loudly and Danny’s hand slips free from his cock to grip Alex’s hip, keeping him pinned in place. “Good…good,” he soothes, kissing Alex’s neck, feeling the man tremble against him. When he touches between his legs, Alex’s cock is soft again. He must have come, the water washing away the evidence. “So good,” he emphasizes, not wanting the man to plummet into the self-loathing abyss that sometimes consumes him after prematurely ejaculating.

Alex’s face is ruddy, perspiration mixing with water droplets across his brow, eyes glassy as he glances back at him. Waiting. Danny pushes the wet mop of his hair back with his free hand and picks up the tube again, adding three drops to his hard length and spreading around the lube. Alex hides his face again in anticipation, legs spreading as much as the shower with allow. He grips the man’s hips and lines up the head of his cock with the pink bud, pressing forth slowly but insistently. There’s a familiar hurdle of tightness, the light and dark fighting within Alex until he pops inside, and the man gasps in a mixture of pleasure and relief. It’s as though Alex believes the times he’s successfully fucked were a fluke that he’ll never be able to replicate again.

It’s hot in the shower, the air thick with steam, and Danny is dizzy from the lack of oxygen and Alex gripping him like a vise. He sucks in a deep, calming breath, tells himself to _get it together_ because he needs to provide all the forward momentum here. Alex is at his mercy, silently asking for guidance that only Danny can provide. His fingers dig into Alex’s hips as he pushes forward, mouth agape as he watches the hypnotic display of his cock disappearing into Alex, his body opening to him like a blossoming flower.

Inside, he can feel the frantic pounding of Alex’s heart, and Danny knows he’s gasping for breath by the rapid expansion and contraction of his ribcage. He makes a soothing noise and strokes Alex’s spine, hand pausing to thumb the dimples above his rear. “Breathe, my love. Just like that,” he encourages, impressed that he’s able to say anything when Alex’s inner muscles are clenching him so exquisitely. Alex is the only virgin he’s ever bedded and the experience is entirely unique, better than the times with Danny’s most expert partners. There’s something so raw and real about each moment with him, like they’re the first people to ever fuck.

Only when the pounding of his heart slows to a distant thud does Danny draw out half his length and thrust back inside. Alex’s broken whimper causes Danny’s heart to painfully clench and simultaneously unleash a flood of blood into his cock. He rocks again, thrusting deeply, hands smoothing up Alex’s back, pushing through the damp sheet stretched across his skin. He grips the man’s shoulders and pulls out to the head, using the leverage to keep Alex pinned in place when his hips snap forward. Their collision of flesh is loud in the confined space of the shower. He bites his lower lip, eyes rolling back in skull because it feels _so_ bloody good, but if he starts moaning and wailing, the end will be nigh.

Alex, on the other hand, occasionally emits breathy gasps and monosyllabic utterances—nothing loud, each pried out of his throat despite his best efforts to remain quiet. It occurs to Danny that Alex fucks as though someone may be eavesdropping on them, as though he’s a young boy and his mother has put on the kettle downstairs, and he’s wildly afraid of being caught in an act of debauchery.

When he grips between his thighs again, Alex’s cock is hard. His fingers wrap the length and stroke while undulating his hips: slow, decadent thrusts from tip-to-root. Alex gropes at the slick wall, searching for purchase, one hand finally landing upon his own skull, fingers furling in his hair, yanking at the soaked mane as if attempting to balance the enormous pleasure with enough pain to remain silent. Danny reaches for his wrist and pulls his hand away as he snaps his hips forward. “Ah!” Alex cries again, voice quaking, knees nearly buckling.

 _Yes. I want to hear you._ Gently, he coaxes Alex’s arm behind his back, fingers tightening around the wrist in a silent question. If it’s too much, Alex’s superior strength will allow him to end the arrangement. The split second feels like an eternity, but Alex stays quiet, apart from panting breath. When his head turns, the cheek pressed to an arm, his face is calm but eyes are black with desire. Danny keeps his arm pinned as he fucks him firmly, hips clapping loudly against the wet curve of his rear, Alex grunting and rocking against the wall. The man reaches back, a large hand gripping Danny’s thigh, dragging him forward, a wave of delirious happiness washing over him upon realizing Alex doesn’t just _like_ this—he’s wanted this for quite some time. Alex has been planting hints for months, praying Danny would realize what he wants, and he finally has.

Danny has made him happy when that’s all Danny wants.

 _I know, love. I know what you need_. He smooths a hand across Alex’s crown, soothing him, wordlessly demonstrating that he understands before gripping the back of his neck so he’s entirely pinned against the wall by neck and wrist. Danny thrusts again and this time Alex moans loudly, thighs shaking in their telltale way that means he’s coming, thick ropes shooting from his bobbing cock as Danny’s hips jerk him forwards. Alex is barely standing, so as his hips pump, Danny grunts an inarticulate offer: “I can finish…” He can pull out and wank until climax, if that’s what Alex wants, if he’s too sensitive post-orgasm to bend over and let Danny fuck him.

“No,” Alex gasps, “ _No_.”

That’s all the permission he needs. Danny releases his neck and arm in favor of seizing his waist and fucking Alex hard until his heart is in his throat and a charged wave washes over him, flooding south, pouring out via his cock. He swears loudly, thrusting in a frenzy until the very end when he’s spilled the last seed. Afterwards, Alex collapses against the wall, Danny on top of him, the water washing over them both as Danny moans between his shoulder blades and his cock gradually softens inside Alex until it slips out entirely. 

Silence, apart from the rushing water. Finally, Alex straightens to his full height, pushing off the wall so he can turn and face him. Once more, the man towers over him, and it should feel strange—how, mere seconds ago, Alex was bowed submissively before him—but it doesn’t. Their gazes meet and Danny smiles first, followed by Alex (sweet, sheepish), the man’s arms looping his slender waist, Danny’s arms thrown around his neck, guiding him down into a passionate embrace.

 

* * *

 

“Was that my Christmas present?” Danny asks from the couch. 

They’re dried off, dressed in leisurewear (it’s a holiday, after all), Alex crouched by the fireplace as he labors to get the flames going. He glances over his shoulder and sees Danny’s teasing expression. Alex bashfully smiles and quickly looks away because his cheeks reflexively warm with a blush. Danny is utterly free, unselfconscious, able to casually discuss what they do in bed afterwards, but Alex feels embarrassed about how he is…during. Reflecting upon how debased he becomes in the throes of passion, it’s like an evil spirit possesses him.

“No, I got you a proper gift.” 

“Because I wouldn’t complain, if it was.”

Alex chuckles, using the iron poker to prod at the kindling, coaxing flames to spread atop the logs. Danny had carried on cooing when he’d first seen the fireplace, the result of Alex paying for custom design. He’d wanted it because it reminded him of being in a cabin located in the center of desolate woods. One day, he’d like to move to an area like that—where he and Danny can be far, far away from everyone and everything. 

Standing, he nearly snags his head on the gold tinsel above the hearth, still unaccustomed to its—and the tree’s—presence in his parlor. The tree is real (Danny’s request), the ornaments entirely comprised of hasty purchases made from some crafting store, though sentimental efforts were made on Danny’s part to secure the _right_ ornaments for them. There’s a runner ornament that Danny has placed beside a shivering penguin (“To represent when we met,” he’d said, and Alex didn’t understand until he explained Alex is the runner and Danny was the shivering, sick penguin on the bridge). Mostly, however, the ornaments are colorful bulbs and candy canes, generic accessories of the holiday, with great patches of evergreen in between. “No matter,” Danny had cheerily sung, “Every year, we’ll add more ornaments and then one day the tree will be full.”

Surprisingly, Alex finds this enormously appealing, the idea of a concrete project to build and work on with Danny. A physical manifestation of the life they’re creating with each other.

Quiet and thoughtful, he prods the fire, knocking more of the kindling into the flames until the fire is healthy and self-sustaining. Only then does he slide the poker into its wrought iron base and look back at Danny. “I have something for you,” he says again, walking to a closet and opening the door. Even though his back is once again to Danny, he senses the young man shift to the edge of his seat, and without looking he knows Danny is craning his neck, eager to see what it is. Smiling to himself, Alex removes an indivisible side panel and pulls out a small package bound in wrapping paper: cream background, holly pattern.

“You’re sly!” Danny laughs, face glowing. “I never would have thought to look there in a million years.” _I know_. Alex pauses before the couch and wordlessly extends the gift. _For you_. “Wait, wait! I have something for you too!” Danny launches off the couch and hurries into the kitchen from which rustling drifts moments afterwards. Most likely looking through his rucksack. Alex is proven right a few seconds later when Danny emerges wearing a smirk, hands behind his back. “Okay, on three we present the gifts.” Alex nods to show this arrangement is agreeable. “One…two…three!” He whips around a small, blue box sporting a white ribbon. “I have to explain mine a bit. Did you keep it under twenty pounds? You better not have violated our arrangement,” he threatens without any real heat behind the words.

Alex smiles slowly. “I adhered to the treaty,” he remarks, swapping gifts with Danny. He weighs the box in his hands. _4.8 ounces_. But does not open the package. Instead, he watches Danny excitedly peel away the layers of wrapping paper, thoughtlessly discarding them on the back of the couch in his excited quest. Alex breathes deeply through his nose. Drifting through the cardboard folds of the box, emerging from under the thin layer of garish paper, billowing up into his nostrils, is the scent of sandalwood. _Geo F. Trumper shaving soap._ The kind in the wooden bowl. Alex’s favorite. Twenty-two pounds. His smile deepens, touched and a little proud that Danny broke their rule and lied about it for the sake of buying him something he enjoys. And that Danny enjoys too, judging by the way the young man nuzzles his jaw in bed, and the fact that he couldn’t wait to smell the soap, which is why he broke the seal and Alex detects the scent now.

Eager fingers wrestle open the top of the box. “Oh no!” Danny immediately bursts out laughing, lifting the reindeer socks to the light. “Oh, they’re hideous. They’re totally me.” His smile is so wide that the corners of his eyes wrinkle. Danny’s real smile. “Look at its horrible red nose,” he coos.

“Big nose, like me,” Alex teases, eyes shining as he watches Danny yank his old, dull socks from his feet to replace them with the reindeers.

“I love your nose,” the young man purrs, pressing against him and leaning up for a kiss. Only then does he notice that Alex hasn’t opened his gift yet. “Your turn!” Since Danny lied about his spending budget, Alex feels less guilty about feigning surprise when he severs the corners of wrapping paper, hooking a finger beneath the tape and primly lifting. Danny watches him with a furrowed brow, “I’ve never seen anyone unwrap a gift so neatly.”

He lifts the top of the box and smiles. “Ah, you know me very well,” nodding approvingly, lifting up the black box. “Cheers,” he adds, leaning down to kiss Danny in thanks.

“I love how you smell after you use that stuff,” he murmurs, pressing against him, tip of nose grazing Alex’s jawline. He wants to wrap his arms around the young man, but his hands are otherwise occupied. “Slightly selfish gift, I suppose.”

“Not at all. Exactly what I need—what I _want_ ,” he amends, knowing Danny values pleasure over practicality.  

“There’s more. Just under the tissue paper.” The smile is gone, and when Alex looks at Danny’s face, the expression he has categorized as _earnest_ stares back at him. Intrigued, he lifts the tissue paper. Whatever it is, it must be light. Small. Odorless. Something that slipped past his defenses. His fingertips touch an object: soft and plastic. Lifting upwards, he recognizes the disposable drink pack. It’s his. The one he gave Danny all those months ago. He stares at it, momentarily stunned that Danny still has it. “I hope this isn’t weird. Is it weird?” Still, Alex can’t speak, so he looks at Danny who is now wearing his _worried_ face. “I kept it. God, I was so pathetic. I used to look at it on my bedside table and wonder who you were, what you were doing. It became like…a shrine, or a portal to another world. I just _knew_ I had to find you, and I know it’s just a bit of plastic, but I’ve never been able to throw it away because it was the first thing you ever gave me.”

He still can’t speak. Strange, because Danny has gifted him trash, and yet…

Alex steps forwards, wrapping his arms around Danny’s smaller frame, even though it’s slightly awkward because his hands are full. “It’s not weird.” Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s exactly as weird as Alex is and that’s why it works so well.

He presses a kiss to the young man’s brow and proceeds to gather the wrapping paper and boxes to dispose of them in the kitchen bin before joining Danny on the couch. The young man’s reindeer-clad feet are kicked up on the table, soles warming in the light of the fire. He sets the box containing the empty drink pack and shaving soap on the table and sits beside him, winding an arm around Danny’s shoulders as he leans into Alex’s side. They rest quietly for a while, Alex staring into the fire, Danny looking at his feet as they sway back and forth, as though the reindeer are dancing.

“Oh, I wanted to make us hot chocolate,” he idly comments, voice heavy with contented fatigue.

Alex feels like he could sit here, in this moment, forever. His cheek grazes Danny’s soft hair and he kisses the top of his head. “In a bit,” he says, not wanting Danny to go just yet. There’s no need to entertain, no reason to rush towards clumsy groping or desperate attempts at amusing one another. The quiet, dignified confidence of true love. Its power is enormous and fills Alex with a righteous arrogance. Here, with Danny, inside their fortress. 

All the obligations and fear will have to wait outside in the cold.


	5. Danny catches a cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny gets sick and Alex takes care of him

A line of cold medicine bottles stretches across the marble countertop and Alex, still dressed in his jacket, considers his purchases. The bottle harboring orange liquid promises it’s fast-acting, but the purple bottle claims to be long-lasting. The others make similar promises to squash coughs and knock loose mucus, but he ultimately settles on the orange stuff, believing it’s essential that Danny feels better as soon as possible. He sheds his jacket, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair and carries the bottle to the bedroom where Danny is virtually invisible under a mound of blankets, only the burst of his hair visible atop the pillow. Alex pauses beside the bed and almost smiles, thinking Danny looks rather sweet even when he has one foot in the grave.

Too much dancing too late into the night, smoking, surrounded by unsavory types. Alex trusts his partner, but that doesn’t mean he must trust the rest of the world, which is chockfull of vagabonds with ulterior motives, some of whom are infected with nasty viruses. It’s his fault. He’s slid backwards into old routines: working long hours, practically living in the lab. Danny misses him and acts out in ways that usually only hurt himself. 

Danny doesn’t stir until Alex gently brushes back the thick fringe and touches his brow. Still feverish. He makes a soft noise, rolling onto his back, and squinting blearily up at Alex. “Did you leave yet?” he mumbles. Disoriented. Alex can tell from the way his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth that he’s also dehydrated. With his hair disheveled and red nose, he looks about a decade younger. 

“Yes and I bought some medicine,” he announces, placing the bottle on the bedside table. “We should see a doctor.”

Danny dismisses the idea immediately. “No, I’ll be fine,” he rasps, dragging himself into a seated position and fumbling with the bottle until Alex takes it from him and removes the plastic cup, peels away the cap, and pours him the correct dosage. Danny accepts the cup from him, downs the medicine like a shot, face pinched to display his displeasure. His lips curl in a discreet smirk when he takes the cup from Danny and briefly leaves to wash it out in the lavatory. Afterwards, he leaves the bottle and cap within arm’s reach of Danny on the bedside table. “I’m sorry I’ve been in the way. I can go back to my flat.”

Tonight marks the fifth consecutive day of Danny spending the night at his flat—a record for them—which Alex recognizes is rather sad and pathetic. Due to his demanding schedule and particular idiosyncrasies, Danny feels _in the way_ when the thought should have never entered his head. “Nonsense,” Alex replies, perching on the edge of the bed and sandwiching Danny’s cold hand between his own, rubbing the fingers in hopes of warming the flesh. “I want to look after you.”

It’s the truth, combined with the fact that Danny’s flat is filthy and Alex hates that he still must live there. They’ve no other choice. He’s already compromised Danny’s safety too much by allowing him to visit so often. By now, surveillance units have noticed their habits—how Danny is _always_ coming over. Alex still grasps the thin hope that they might assume Danny is a friend. As if it’s not incredibly obvious they are much, much more than that.

A familiar pull of sadness when Danny appears momentarily confused by the loving offer, as if he’s been told many times in the past that, indeed, he _is_ in the way, terribly inconveniencing everyone with his illness. “You’re sure?” he croaks, barely getting the words out before disintegrating into another coughing fit. He covers his mouth with a free hand, turning away in a desperate attempt to shield Alex from his germs.

He smiles slowly, watching the display. A touching gesture, but ineffective. If Alex is going to catch the cold, it’s bound to happen due to their close quarters and the fact that Alex keeps stealing kisses even as Danny shies away and swats at him in weak objection. “I’m sure,” he confirms, easing Danny back into a reclining position and tugging the blankets upwards to cover his chest. “I’m going to get you some water.”

“I have a headache,” Danny pouts.

“And aspirin,” he adds, pausing above him to smile and press a kiss to his hot brow. Danny’s breathing comes in shallow wheezes, the skin beneath Alex’s mouth damp with perspiration.

“You look handsome. I like that shade of blue on you.”

Alex glances down to his attire: grey jacket and slacks and the collared shirt, to which Danny is referring. He bites back the urge to point out it’s _cornflower_ , not simply blue. Those are the types of remarks that make people not want to pay Alex compliments in the first place. “Cheers,” he replies, flashing a smile before leaving the bedroom to fetch Danny the things he needs.

 

* * *

 

Danny requests his rucksack, so Alex stops working in the kitchen, gathers all the documents and notes, neatly stacks the pages, and conceals them in his satchel. Not that he needs to hide the calculations. Even if Danny found them, he wouldn’t understand, but Alex is permanently overly cautious, concerned with erecting as many barriers between Danny and _the truth_ as possible in order to keep him protected. 

He carries Danny’s bag into the bedroom and presents it to him. “I want to watch a movie,” he sniffs, pulling out his laptop, a purchase Alex made some months ago to aid in Danny’s burgeoning interest in writing, although all he seems to use it for is social media and watching films. “I brought some DVDs because I thought we could watch them on a date night, but then I got sick…” He pulls out three DVD cases and gasps upon noticing the top one, even though he shouldn’t be surprised because they are _his_ films. “We’ve _got_ to watch _The_ _Princess Bride_.” Danny eagerly gazes up at him, perhaps waiting for a particular response (most likely enthusiasm), but Alex stares back him with a politely blank expression. “Oh, _Alex_ ,” Danny sighs, in a way that means the young man feels terribly sorry for him because he has apparently missed out on one of life’s little joys _again_. “Stop whatever you’re doing. We’re watching this now.”

They lay in bed together, Alex’s arm around his shoulders, Danny’s head pressed to his shoulder. As he tires, the youth migrates south so his head rests against Alex’s chest, and finally his lap, Alex’s fingers gently combing through his hair, tucking an unruly curl behind his ear. Danny is smitten with the film, quieter than Alex has ever heard him, transfixed upon the…well, Alex has a hard time following the plot. The trouble is he can’t focus, his mind slipping into the comfortable familiarity of calculations and formulas. Whenever he drifts back to consciousness, there’s a new scene and he has to play catch up to understand what’s happening. He gathers it’s a love story, as confirmed when the farm boy-turned-fencer announces, “As you wish,” to the female protagonist. 

This interpretation of love concerns him because the fencer seems more like a slave than a willing participant, but Danny is enjoying the film and Alex doesn’t want to spoil the mood. He remembers their tense fireside tête-à-tête about soul mates and wonders if his skepticism about the film stems from the same place—that irrevocable fork in the road where he and Danny depart in separate directions. The thought concerns him and he glances down at the side of Danny’s face again. It’s the end of the film and the youth’s eyes shine with unshed tears. This story moves Danny so much that he’s on the verge of crying and Alex can’t even make sense of why he should care for the characters.

“Oh, it was even better than I remembered,” Danny sniffs as the credits roll, climbing to a seated position so he can look at Alex. He does his best to look alert, even flashing a slight smile, but it does no good. As he removes the DVD from the laptop, Danny keeps casting sly glances his way, “Did you like it?”

“I did,” he replies succinctly, nodding. But Danny’s reply is silence, sinking the DVD onto the clip and clicking the case shut, then considering him with raised brows, to show he doesn’t believe Alex’s words for a second. He exhales and presses his back against the headboard, “I didn’t understand it,” he admits, and when Danny looks at him in confusion, as if the film should be the most easy to understand thing in the world, he adds: “That chap, the blond one, the way he said he’d do _anything_ the woman demanded—no matter what it was—does that strike you as a healthy relationship?”

Danny coughs into the back of his hand. “That’s love, Alex.”

 _No, that’s insanity,_ he thinks, but knows saying that will start a fight. “Some film writer’s idea of love. Not real love.”

“Wouldn’t you do anything for me?” Danny asks, and his nose really is adorable even though it’s raw and red. Alex thinks of the reindeer socks.

“Of course,” he answers, reflexively, without a second thought. Danny’s hand extends in front of him, as if revealing Alex’s card at the end of a magic trick, as if to say _there you go_. But that’s different, isn’t it? His love for Danny is practical. They’re good together. They just _fit_. In a flash, he considers their entire relationship from the start until this moment, and experiences the startling realization that he’s been the opposite of pragmatic. Alex has been reckless and careless, constantly pushing the limitations of what he can get away with, and all because he randomly met Danny and decided he was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And then there’s the matter of Danny’s sweet disposition. His generosity, patience, and kindness. The fact that he is the most decent, innocent person Alex knows. “Oh…” he softly declares, offering a sheepish smile. _I didn’t realize. The film is about us. Because I’d do anything for you._

Danny smiles slowly, chuckling as he grabs Alex by the lapels and leans forward. “Yeah,” he sighs, allowing Alex to be the one to decide if he wants to kiss him and risk infection. He does. He’d risk that in a second. He’s risked much more already. 

Alex erases the distance between them with a slight readjustment and Danny whimpers happily into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

He’s no chef in the kitchen, but is able to figure out a very simple chicken soup recipe, which is fortuitous because that’s all Danny can keep down for the first few days of his illness. Gradually, his appetite returns and Alex upgrades to toast, then toast with margarine. Finally, some fresh fruit. Danny is sitting up in bed by the fourth day, bright-eyed and chipper once more. “You’re spoiling me,” he sighs when Alex carries him breakfast on a tray. But Alex doesn’t think that’s true. It doesn’t feel like spoiling Danny, anyway. This just seems like the right thing to do for someone he cares about. 

He touches Danny’s forehead as the youth sinks his teeth into a triangle piece of toast. “You feel much cooler,” he notes.

“I’m better,” Danny agrees, “I can go back to my flat tonight.”

“No,” Alex replies, thinking that one of Danny’s flatmates may have been the one to infect him. For all they know, flu particles could still be coating every surface in the dingy flat. “I want you to stay tonight,” he decides, even as a logical voice inside his brain demands he reverse the decision. They’re watching them. Earlier in the day, Alex looked out a window and spotted a surveillance van parked at the corner of his street. This is beyond dangerous. “I insist,” he adds, standing straight, nodding once to show he means it.

Danny stirs his soup in slow, methodical circles, steam pillowing up from the bowl, eyes searching Alex’s face. “Okay,” he smiles, demure and beguiling in a way that makes the panic subside.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Alex sits alone and imagines what it will be like when it happens. When they finally come for him. He wants to believe they’ll have the decency to wait for Danny to leave the flat, but he isn’t sure that’s how events will unfold. If he was a religious man, he would pray for that outcome because otherwise their fates are too unimaginably awful to consider.  

He’s been distracted at work. That’s how the robots phrase Alex finding the love of his life—“Distracted” from the objective. Alex has been pulled into three meetings this month alone—frigid affairs where he sits at a long conference table and a trio of suited superiors examine him from the opposite end, manilla folders spread out before them, his files, making clipped, passive-aggressive remarks about his use of vacation days and how he’s been late to meet key benchmarks. 

“Who’s Danny?” one of them asked in a heart-stopping moment last Friday. _But of course they know, you fool. They’ve known since the beginning._

Alex hadn’t blinked. He considered the man, Daryl: a balding, pale bureaucrat with an unfortunate penchant for wearing paisley ties. “A friend.”

No one replied, but Daryl scribbled something in his file, and without looking Alex understood what it said: 

 _Lying_.

He doesn’t care. For the first time in his life, he isn’t lonely. _Let them come_.

 

* * *

 

Clamoring leads him to the bedroom and he lingers in the doorway, smirking when their gazes meet across the room, Danny in mid-launch of the comforter. He’s making the bed, one of the chores he’s assigned himself out of guilt because necessity requires Alex to make most of their large purchases, and Danny had promised himself long ago not to live at the mercy of a man again. Ironically, that has become their arrangement despite Danny’s protests, but Alex doesn’t mind. Truthfully, he’s glad to know something good comes from the money he earns toiling in misery at his job. 

“I’m feeling much better,” Danny declares, before Alex can tell him to lay down and rest for the hundredth time. 

“Good,” he nods, “I’m going to pop out and fetch us some groceries.”

“ _Wait_ ,” Danny calls, breathless from the exertion of making the bed as he jogs over to where Alex is standing, “I thought we could…” Voice pitched low, the heat of him radiating against Alex as clever hands slide up his chest, perching atop shoulders. His smile is shy, teeth worrying a bottom lip. It’s been about a week, which is a long time for them. Alex has been actively fantasizing about the last time he made love to Danny when he should be focusing on work.

His hands instinctively clutch Danny’s hips before Alex can think. The youth’s confidence and promiscuousness is unspeakably exciting to him, robbing him of the ability to speak or communicate clearly, so he nods. Danny is close to his face now, smiling, appearing to glow, or perhaps that’s the aura of importance Alex has invested in him. Less than a year ago, the project was Alex’s whole world, but now that space has been filled by Danny. And isn’t that the whole problem? As if the wildly powerful people who employ him would ever grant him the luxury of finding true love.

The youth surges upwards like a wave, crashing into Alex, hungry as he kisses and nips at his lips, wrestling the layers off Alex’s chest as he stands there, temporarily stunned and overwhelmed as he always is in Danny’s presence. He fights to overcome the anger at himself, inner voice screaming to _move, dammit_ , because he is ever-fearful that Danny will tire of him and the endless need to treat him with vast quantities of patience and understanding. Men would probably tear each other apart for the chance to take Danny to bed, and Alex’s traitorous brain can’t accept that, of all the men in London, the young man has chosen _him._

He’s so tired of being afraid. 

Alex grabs Danny, picking him up, smiling as the youth lets out a delighted shriek and laugh, limbs wrapping around him and holding on as he carries Danny to the mattress and gently deposits him on the freshly made bed. Stretching out, the shirt of a band Alex doesn’t know rides up, revealing a strip of Danny’s slender waist. He bends down, caging in the youth with his arms and leans down to kiss and suck on his exposed clavicle. Danny gasps, hands flying up, fingers furling in Alex’s hair. 

 _I’m not broken all the time_ , he wants to say. _I can be strong, for you_.

He closes his eyes, enjoying the salty taste of Danny’s flesh, the way the bone elegantly presses against the flesh, all at once hard and soft against his tongue. Danny chants his name beautifully, like a holy prayer. He reaches down and wrestles open his slacks as Danny simultaneously peels the t-shirt off his frame to reveal his slender torso. He wants to ask if it would be permissible to make love to him, and is trying to figure out a less stuffy way to ask the question when Danny gasps: “Want to fuck me?”

He admires the young man’s way of cutting to the heart of the matter. “Yes,” he thickly responds, hoping Danny knows a vast understatement when he hears one. 

Alex unbuttons and unzips his jeans, working them and the black briefs off Danny’s hips and legs, and returns to the welcoming spot between his legs when the youth surprises him and rolls them over so he’s straddling Alex’s waist. He’s smiling, but his brow is furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t they just agreed…? Danny smiles sweetly, fingers trailing over Alex’s chest, toying in the hair (Alex loves when he does that). “I thought…” 

“I want to ride you,” Danny purrs, dipping down to press a series of kisses to Alex’s chest, pausing at the right nipple to lick and suck at the bud. 

Alex hisses in response, grabbing the back of Danny’s head and holding him there. The sensation sends jolts of pleasure through him. _Of course._ His entire sexual history is limited to time with Danny, and even then they’ve been fairly conservative: missionary, oral sex, occasionally taking one another from behind, but there are other ways to make love too. “Oh…” he sighs, and the benevolent smile Danny casts his way stops a threatening blush of embarrassment from washing across his face. Feeling shame over his naiveté is pointless because Danny would never judge him. The possibility of Danny bottoming from the top never occurred to him, but the idea of it now makes him dizzy.

When Danny’s fingers loop him, Alex understands why he suddenly feels so light-headed. All of the blood in his body has apparently rushed south into his cock. “Fuck, you are so sexy,” Danny groans and Alex’s eyes slip shut. He can’t listen to the young man talk _and_ watch him handle his cock or he’s going to climax. Sounds of shifting, rustling, a cap opening. His fingertips graze Danny’s thighs as the young man positions himself. “Look at me, baby,” he encourages and Alex’s eyes crack open. “Want you to watch me.”

Danny is flushed, eyes glassy with desire, his own cock hard and curled upwards against his flat stomach. Alex reaches for it automatically, stroking him from the wet tip to the neatly trimmed hair between his legs. The youth gasps, reaching back to slick his entrance with the lube, working fingers deep inside to match the rhythm of Alex’s hand. He watches dumbly, lips parted, gaze hungry because he’s realized his imagination has been stupendously lacking. Had he even known _this_ was a possibility, he would have been fantasizing about it at work and during dull meetings.

“Keep touching me,” Danny pleads as he braces atop his feet and leans back, fingers gripping Alex’s length and guiding the head between his cheeks. Alex wonders how he can navigate blindly, but the idea instantly evaporates as his cock sinks inside Danny’s wet heat. A guttural noise crawls out of him and he squirms under the youth, hands seizing his hips and following Danny’s descent until he’s nestled against his hips once more. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Danny whines, eyes clenched shut, his hand substituting for Alex now, pumping enthusiastically as he squirms, hips undulating in agonizingly languid circles. 

“Ah,” Alex gasps, longing to cover his mouth or bite his knuckles, anything to prevent the embarrassing noises from escaping his mouth. He’s raw and exposed beneath Danny, but the anxiety and shame wash away as soon as the youth begins to bounce on his cock. Alex shouts again, holding onto Danny’s waist even though he isn’t the one setting the demanding pace. If anything, he’s clinging to Danny like a sailor lost at sea in a storm, hanging onto the ship’s mast for dear life. 

Filthy declarations escape Danny’s mouth, and yet instead of sounding contrived or rehearsed, Alex finds his unbridled passion incredibly sexy. Danny is so free during sex that it inspires Alex to let go too. Another moan escapes his mouth and Danny drops down atop him to wetly kiss his mouth, thrusting backwards against Alex’s swollen cock. He sits up and grabs the youth around his waist, mouth tracing a flushed cheek, the underside of Danny’s jaw, down the curve of his beautiful neck. “Alex,” he gasps, arms looping his shoulders.

The intimate position lessens their ability to frantically rut, but he knows from the trembling of the youth’s frame that Danny prefers it this way. He drops to his knees, Alex still embedded inside him, and they kiss as he continues to shift until his legs are wrapped around Alex’s waist and they cling to each other. “I love you,” he whispers against Danny’s cheek, seized by the urgent need to say the words at this precise moment.

“Oh God, I love you too,” Danny moans, and he can tell from the way the young man shakes and pants for breath that he’s close to orgasming.

Experiencing a swell of confidence, Alex surges forward, cradling Danny by the back of his head and dip above his rear, guiding him onto his back. Danny’s gasp of surprise bleeds into a cry of pleasure when Alex thrusts deeply. His hands hook under Danny’s knees, guiding back his legs and using them as leverage as he arches his back, hips pistoning and slapping Danny’s flesh. The youth grabs his arms with bruising force, Adam’s apple bobbing against the vulnerable underside of Danny’s throat as he screams. The sound does something to Alex, unlocks a space deep inside him and unleashes a wildness that causes him to buck roughly, strange noises he’s never made before breaching his clenched teeth.

He comes so hard that bursts of light temporarily blind him, and lands heavily atop Danny, who doesn’t seem to mind judging by the pleasured moans emanating from him. Alex shifts, and when he feels wetness between them, understands Danny came too— _violently_. Their bodies are furnaces, flesh slick as they slowly come back to one another, cautious touching blossoming into eager grabbing, wet kisses, Danny whispering his love so earnestly that Alex kisses him again because he can’t bear to hear anymore. It’s too much. 

Alex tries not to think about what he’ll do if they take Danny. He’ll go insane. He’ll bring a gun to the lab and shoot everyone. He’ll hold the head of his department hostage until they give him back.

“That was amazing,” Danny moans from somewhere under him. He should move. He’s too heavy to be laying on Danny like this, but when he tries to move, the youth clings to him and pulls him back down like he’s a large, meaty blanket. Alex is rapidly softening, but he’s still inside Danny, and the intimacy is enormous. He braces on his elbow and touches Danny’s neck, stroking gently, fingertips tracking his clavicle where he’s bitten the flesh purple. He’s wanted to do that since the first time he saw Danny wearing a V-neck sweater. “It’s always amazing, but…”

Alex knows what he means. There was a desperate urgency this time, as if they both realize they’re nearing the end of something. Maybe that was his doing, given his life has gradually reduced to constant ominous warnings and periods of glimmering happiness with Danny. He pushed the pace this time, locked onto Danny with all the subtly of a drowning man. 

“Is everything alright?” Danny asks quietly, wide eyes monitoring him with concern.

 _No, my love_. He smiles faintly, leaning down to kiss his soft mouth, “Yes.”

They clean themselves and return to bed, nude and facing one another, fingertips of their hands pressed together as if comparing the lengths of their fingers. After a while, Alex laces their fingers and kisses Danny’s knuckles. “Thank you for taking care of me,” the young man whispers.

Alex watches him for a moment, eyes like a placid lake. “I’ll always take care of you.”

Even when they realize Danny has become his top priority. Even when they know with certainty that Alex has been compromised. Even when, one night, they break into his flat and interrogate him, demanding he throw Danny to the wolves in order to save his own skin. He won’t let anyone hurt Danny. Alex doesn’t know precisely how he’ll keep that promise, but their love fills him with a bravado and confidence that makes him believe victory might be possible.

Danny will never need to ask someone to take care of him again. Alex will never suffer another lonely night.

Alex is tired of running. The rhythm no longer suits him. He prefers the rise and fall of Danny’s chest as he sleeps at night.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr: theaoidos.tumblr.com
> 
> The follow-up to this fic is Revival. Give it a read: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5552087


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